


Outside Your Door

by Okumen



Series: The Butterfly Effect [1]
Category: Black Clover - 田畠裕基 | Tabata Yuki
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Urban Fantasy, Anxiety, Foreign Language, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Nozel is In Over His Head, Original Character(s), Other tags might be added, Strangers to Lovers, Suicidal Thoughts, Verbal Abuse, anyway, but not where where you might expect it to be, except also yes partially, some violence in later chapter(s)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-27
Updated: 2018-12-09
Packaged: 2019-03-24 17:31:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 37,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13816023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Okumen/pseuds/Okumen
Summary: He didn’t think that avoiding his cousin by hiding in an antiques store would cause so much trouble.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The story title comes from the title of a song called _[Utanför din dörr](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jMOQFXBTD20)_ , by Stiftelsen.
> 
> The foreign sentences and phrases that appear are translated through Google Translate. As a result, it might not be accurate. If anyone knows the right translations, I would love to know. The translations appears in the end notes.

It’s not that he hates his cousin, he thinks to himself, as if he needs to defend his actions to someone that critically stares at every action he makes. Like a little version of his father, whose approval is everything that is supposed to matter. He doesn’t have to defend himself, not when his father is all the way back in Milan, and there is no way he has the ability to see what goes on in Vienna from over there. Still, Nozel says it again to himself, as he weaves through the display shelves in the dimly lit store. He does not hate his cousin, it’s true. Nozel rounds an old couch set, and through the window sees vibrant orange hair disappear on the other side of the street. It’s simply that he has, even on a good day, little patience for his cousin. Kirsch is simply so very.... so very _much_ , and he could be difficult to deal with, even on a good day. Not that Nozel ever had bad days, naturally not——a Silva _never_ has bad days.

Nozel sighed a small sigh. He rearranged his bangs and the hair curling at his ears as best he could — the cool Austrian spring rarely agreed with the gel and spray he used to set his hair in place, no matter which brands he tried — in a tall antique mirror which was propped up against a shelf. Nozel stopped abruptly, when he remembered that _checking his hair_ was something that Kirch did many times a minute (which might be an exaggeration, but not an extreme one), and not something Nozel did that much. Appearance was important, naturally — his father would not push him to be mindful of it if it weren’t — but unlike his overbearing younger cousin, Nozel was not a narcissist, in love with his own reflection. He shuddered, in remembrance of the time he had accidentally walked in on Kirsch _cooing_ to himself, like one of those girls in romance movies did.

_A Silva never has bad days, huh..._ Certainly, it was not an uncommon thing for his father to say. A Silva was always at the best of their game, no matter what. Nozel picked up a porcelain figurine, to look over the details to distract him from the cold seeping into his right foot and things the reminder of it liked to pull him toward. A Silva was always at their best performance, even when they were feeling so shitty that they might throw up on the middle of the dance floor. If he ever told anyone that he had felt as if his accident had been godsent... _Unacceptable._ He traced the edges of the figurine — a dancing woman and man in a Spanish outfits. Like one of those old dolls that his mother had owned. Though the doll had been wearing a red dress, while this figures dress was white with pink details. The man had a curved back and grey outfit. He had once had a suit similar to it. Nozel ran a finger along all the layers of the skirt, and for a few moments, he imagined the videos he had watched so, so many times, when he was little. _”Silly boy,”_ mother had said, laughing, and picking him up in her strong arms. _”When you have the real deal right here. Do you want to dance with mammina, Passerotto?”_ She twirled with him in her arms across the floor, and she pressed a kiss to his cheek, and he had giggled happily. That was many years ago, now. Over twenty. Until he became too big for her to simply pick up that way. He had loved watching her dance, her powerful steps, the way she carried herself, as if she wasn’t merely dancing, but on the battlefield, as if she were a warrior. He had watched those videos so many times that the tapes had worn, and he had to be forbidden from watch them any more.

When he was little, he had thought that she would be there forever.

The sound of the front door being thrown open far too quickly and the bell on it ringing angrily startled him out of the bittersweet memories that ached in his breast. It startled him so badly that the little dancing couple in pale dress slipped from his grip and landed on the floor with the sound of shattering porcelain. He stared down at the figurine on the floor, feeling the cold spread up his body. The dancing couple lay separated. The man was whole, except for one of his legs, which were still attached to the skirt; but the woman’s body had snapped in half at her waist, pieces of her skirt was gone, her arms laying separate on the floor, and her head was missing. _A Silva does not feel sick, a Silva does not feel sick, a Silva does not——_

He was snapped out of the mantra he repeated in an attempt to stop the world from swimming before his eyes by a soft, apologetic voice. “I’m so so sorry! The wind-... I didn’t mean to startle you, I’m sorry, I’ll pay for the damage.”

The distressed voice and expression belonged to a man, a little more round-faced than Nozel’s sharp features, a little paler than Nozel’s Mediterranean skin which greedily sucked up any sunlight it could grab in these more northern parts of Europe, and with hair darker and more reddish golden blond than Nozel’s towheaded hair. He had to be younger by several years.

“I’ll do that myself,” Nozel said with finality. Or at least, that was his intention. It either didn’t come out that way – he didn’t understand why he needed to feel so affected by a simple porcelain figure breaking – or the other man didn’t intend to take no for an answer. “It was my fault,” was one of the things that he said. Nozel had not intended to buy the figurine, he had simply been caught up in a nostalgia that clenched painfully around his heart. But you buy what you break. Even if looking at the thing caused a desperate longing that could not ever fully go away, even if it caused such buried memories to resurface, even if——He needed air, his father’s many words of what _a Silva doesn’t_ ringing in his ears be damned, so—— so he fled, he hurried down the street only populated by commuters and joggers. He rushed along the street, he rushed back the way he had come, toward home.

Not until he spotted the front entrance to Sans Souci did he slow his steps. _A Silva does not_ , father’s long winded speech, was almost cancelled out by the sound of his own heart beating loudly in his ears. He passed through the front door, crossed the lobby to the elevators. It felt as if he waited for an eternity until one arrived, and another eternity again until it reached his floor. He dropped the key card on the bedside table, and he fished his phone from his pocket. His hand shivered, and made it hard to read the screen. 08:08. He opened up his contacts as he sank down on the floor beside the bed, and because he was unable to operate the keyboard with shivering fingers, he scrolled down until he reached the letter _V_. Between _Vermillion, Friede (Zie)_ and _Vermillion, Kirsch_ , was the name _Vermillion, Fuegoreon_ , and it would be so easy to simply swipe the name to the side and call him. But what would he say? That he had broken a porcelain figure and nearly had a panic attack because it reminded him of happy times with his mother? What sort of pathetic, weak excuse was that? And Fuegoreon would be working. It was already 15:12 in Liuyang and a lot of Fuegoreon’s work was delicate. Disturbing him was always a risk, and he didn’t want his friend to get more hurt than he already had been in the past. There could be someone... Nozel scrolled back up, sank down on the floor beside his bed and leaned against it, but the only ones in his phone were family, colleagues, rivals, other work related contacts, former colleagues and rivals, hookups... He paused at a contact only labelled as _Licht_. But no. Talking to Licht was... He was not against talking to his ex-turned-friend but also...just....no. Not about this sort of thing, not now. Not anymore. He sighed, dropped his phone onto the covers, and leaned his cheek against the squishy edge of the bed. If only it had been the evening and not the morning, then he could have gone to a bar, or called any number of his hookups for some time off from thinking. _A Silva doesn’t show weakness,_ and the thoughts he needed distraction from, needed to stop having altogether, were certainly the thoughts of somebody weak. If only Fuegoleon didn’t live all the way off in China...

Nozel tried dozing off, even though he shouldn’t. It wasn’t long until he had to get ready for work. It didn’t work out; his mind kept on showing him the image of the broken porcelain dancers, showed him other images he desperately wanted to forget, and that didn’t help his shaking. He felt his phone buzz against his nails, and he groped after it for a few moments. _Silva, Luciana (Nonna)_ the name on the screen read. “Punctual as always, nonna,” he muttered into the empty room when he took note of the 09:25 on the screen. She, without fail, would text him at the exact same time, every single day.

> _Buongiorno, cucciolo. Spero che il lavoro stia andando bene. Naturalmente, ci manderai i biglietti._

  
Tickets... Why did he have to... Nonna didn’t even approve of his career as a musician. She would have preferred him to have continued within dance. He could not dance the same anymore, but he could teach. Noelle, in particular, needed a capable instructor. Often, nonna brought this up, and suggested he take her place as a world renowned dance instructor. But he could not... It was impossible for him. And it was not solely because he had trouble even looking at his younger little sister.

> _Buongiorno, nonna cara. Certo che lo farò. Prima sto registrando un CD, ti invierò una copia._

  
He wasn’t satisfied — and nonna wouldn’t care if he sent a CD beyond the fact that she had a need to constantly know what he was doing, and to criticize him for his choices — but he would not be able to write a better reply before she started thinking that he was ignoring her.

09:32… He needed to hurry if he wanted to be on time for his recording session at 10:00. It would do no good to be late. Nozel squeezed his eyes shut, opened them again a few seconds later, and he pushed himself up off the floor. He saw the screen on his phone turn black, and realized that he had received another message. Nonna, again.

> _Ottimo. Bene. Non vedo l'ora._

  
Not much to reply to, but he needed to say something or she would text again despite clearly being done with him. _Sure you look forward to it_ he almost wrote in reply, and he scoffed. He went to grab a coat and scarf, while he formulated a reply in his mind. There was no way that he could write that. She would flip out immediately, and she would tell father, and father would tell Nozel to pack it up and return to Milan because he was _done_. There was no way that he could call her out on her bullshit and get out of it scot-free. Nozel groaned, leaned against the wall, and nudged his violin case with the toe of one of his shoes.

> _Parte del procedimento andrà ad aiutare i bambini bisognosi._

  
He knew that she didn’t care about that fact, and that belief was confirmed when her reply dropped into his phone.

> _È bene che tu ci dia delle copie gratis, allora, cucciollo._

  


> _Sì, nonna cara. Hai ragione._

  
The only thing he could reply with was agreement. She still thought that he did not care about anyone but himself, and the members of their prestigious little family, and their reputation. Just as she didn’t care about anyone but herself, and, to a lesser degree, the members of the family. It was a wonder that she was not related to Kirsch, as she was just as selfish as he could be. Actually.. Kirsch could be a little less selfish than she was.

Nozel didn’t really care about charity, but he knew that it was something that was important to Fuegoreon, and Fuegoreon was Nozel’s closest friend and one of the few people that Nozel felt that he could rely upon when he really needed to. (But that was before. Things were different now, for both of them.) Four years ago, before Fuegoreon’s accident, the two of them had gone to Africa. It had been Fuegoreon’s idea — Nozel remembered being dragged along, as he picked up his violin case and headed for the door — and it had been incredibly meaningful, particularly to Fuegoreon, to go there. It had changed Nozel’s perspective, too. Maybe it wasn’t as life-changing to him as Fuegoreon had hoped that it would be, but it was still life-changing to him. Now, he did give to charity, he even went out of his way to do so even if there were faster options, and he didn’t completely avoid charity stores, and he had even applied to take part in this collaboration CD.... _before_ he had heard that some musicians that he admired also were participating. Fuegoreon ought to be proud that he had changed to even such an extent.

* * *

The grunt coming from the bed was, surely, maybe, meant to mean _good morning_ , but it wasn’t exactly discernable, since the man’s face was buried in a crazy amount of pillows.

“It’s nearly lunch!” Finral protested at the man in the bed. The man in the bed only grunted again in response. “You can’t sleep all day!” Finral shouted at him. “Herr Yami! Zora and Charmy can’t be left alone with the customers! You’re supposed to be there, too! Everything becomes a mess when you’re not there!”

“So noisy…” Yami grumbled. He buried himself further into the bed.

“Herr Yami!”

A chuckle coming from behind him made Finral spin around, and he let out a frustrated sigh. “Herr William, please help me out instead of just laughing,” he protested. William, who was looking through his side of the closet in search for something appropriate to wear for whatever outing he had planned for the afternoon (didn’t he say he was going to a book signing this afternoon?), merely seemed amused at Finral’s plight. One of the German shepherds seemed to be, as William called it, helping him. “You are asking me to do the impossible, Finral,” he said. The smile on his face was far too innocent to be real. Finral groaned. He decided to simply ignore Yami’s boyfriend and turned back to Yami in the bed. Never mind that the man was buck naked and had rolled over to face them — mainly to watch William’s posterior, probably — Finral had seen him naked far too many times for it to distract him in any way. The other of the two shepherds, who was laying in bed, did nothing to cover him up, and the samoyed traipsing around Finral’s feet asking for ear scratches (which was easy to oblige to because he could impossibly resist) did not help either.

“You’re the one who said you just wanted to fight and that’s why you’re the bouncer! You always dump all the paperwork and balancing the books on me even though that isn’t part of my job! If you’re not there to keep them in line, Charmy will eat all the food she makes before it leaves the kitchen and Zora wants to lynch the new place on the other side of the street and— Herr Yami, why are you suddenly so excited!? It is _not_ a good idea!! Herr Yami!!”

William seemed to finish his search for an outfit then. He closed up the closet, and when he passed Finral on his way to the bathroom, shepherd following him but making a beeline for the kitchen, he patted him on the shoulder. “Good luck, brave warrior.”

“Herr William! You’re just as bad as Herr Yami!”

“Naah, he’s worse.” Yami shuffled past Finral to the closet and grabbed a sleeveless and cargos. “Finral, go scout out the new place so we can know how to crush it.”

“We’re not crushing it!” Finral called after Yami, who had set his goal for the bathroom and William. Three dogs blinked at Finral as if they had just heard something unbelievable. They were just as bad as their owners. “And I’m not your personal spy!”

“You’re promoted,” Yami called just as he entered the bathroom. Finral heard William yelp and shout at Yami, and then he heard flesh against tile and a heady moan and that was his cue to beat it because he knew how frisky those two were and about the part where neither of them cared about being subtle when they were among friends. If it weren’t for the fact that William wanted to avoid the paparazzi from gossiping about his love life more than they already did, Yami would have fucked him absolutely _anywhere_ and they would have been arrested for indecency and other things on hundreds of occasions, even though they had only been dating for two years. Finral only remembered to grab the glue that he had initially come for as he fled the amartment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   * Formatting for text messages on AO3 is a menace, I wonder if there's anything else than blockquotes that I could use.
>   * The porcelain figure described is [Lladro - A Passionate Dance](https://www.amazon.com/Lladro-Porcelain-Figurine-Passionate-Dance/dp/B000WZU8H8).
>   * Mammina = Italian, means “mommy”. Usually used by small children.
>   * Passerotto = Italian, means “little sparrow”. Used as an affectionate metaphor for someone “learning to fly”.
>   * Sans Souci = Hotel Sans Souci Wien, in Vienna, Austria.
>   * Friede Vermillion = Minor OC; Kirsch and Mimosa’s mother.
>   * Zie = Italian, used to refer to your aunt.
>   * There is a time difference of seven hours between Vienna, Austria, and Liuyang, China.
>   * Emoji next to Licht’s name is the [magic wand](https://www.emojidex.com/emoji/magic_wand).
>   * Luciana Silva = Minor OC; the Silva siblings’ paternal grandmother.
>   * Nonna = Italian, used to refer to your grandmother.
>   * _Buon giorno, cucciolo. Spero che il lavoro stia andando bene. Naturalmente, ci manderai i biglietti._ = Italian. Meaning: _Good morning, puppy. I hope that work is going well. I look forward to your next performance. Naturally, you will send us tickets._
>   * Cucciollo = Italian. “Puppy”, is an affectionate term.
>   * _Buongiorno, nonna cara. Certo che lo farò. Prima sto registrando un CD, ti invierò una copia._ = Italian. Meaning: _Good Morning, Grandmother dear. Of course, I will. I am recording a CD before that, I will send you a copy._
>   * _Ottimo. Bene. Non vedo l'ora._ = Italian. Meaning: _Very well. Good. I will look forward to it._
>   * _Parte del procedimento andrà ad aiutare i bambini bisognosi._ = Italian. Meaning: _Part of the proceedings will go to help children in need._
>   * _È bene che tu ci dia delle copie gratis, allora, cucciollo._ = Italian: _It is good you give us copies for free, then, puppy._
>   * _Sì, nonna cara. Hai ragione._ = Italian: _Yes, Grandmother dear. You are right._
>   * The German shepherds are Yami’s, the samoyed is William’s.
>   * In conclusion, the Silva are Italian, while the Vermillion are German/Spanish. As for everyone else... You'll learn as the story progress.
> 



	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: I know absolutely nothing about dogs.

The music wouldn’t come out right. No matter what he did, he couldn’t get his fingers to get out the right sound. It didn’t sound good. With frustration boiling, Nozel closed his violin case. He refused to look to the side, but he did snap out a “what?” at the pianist watching him. Licht leaned his cheek in his palm, where he stood leaning against the wall beside the chair Nozel’s case had been laying on while the instrument was in use. “Well...” Thoughtful concern was in his voice. Licht, a pianist from Greece (who didn’t look Greek, nor had a Greek name or any trace of Greek accent at all) who could also play both viola, clarinet and c flute, had the face of an angel and a reputation and talent to match. It was not strange that many fans initially got into his music because of his face — Nozel was still attracted to his face, and his musical talent, but not the way he once had been. They had met when Nozel first moved to Vienna, and had dated for a bit over a year, but in the end they were not romantically compatible and had broken up on friendly terms. All thanks to Licht’s friendly disposition, and no thanks to Nozel’s lack of social skills. “You seem to have been having this problem for a while now.” Nozel glanced over at him with a deep scowl and hands occupied with his coat buttons. “Are you in a slump?”

Nozel froze, gaze moving and locking on his friend. Licht looked back at him with the most infuriatingly calm smile on his face. “I am not.” Nozel turned back to the window and tugged violently at his scarf. “In a slump.” Licht didn’t seem convinced by words, nor persuaded by actions. “Then why can’t you play recently? It’s not your instrument, it’s perfectly tuned.” Nozel brushed imaginary dust from his coat sleeve as a way to not look at Licht. “How is this any of your problem?”

“As your friend, as your ex, as your fan, and as someone who’s working on these tracks with you,” Licht added a bit of emphasis to the last part, “I believe that I have a fair bit to do with it. You would comment if I were the one experiencing a slump.”

Nozel stopped pretending to clean his coat. “It is not a slump,” he said sharply. Licht shrugged, still not seeming to be changing his mind. “It’s _something_ ,” he commented. “Perhaps you need company? I am to record into the evening,” he directed a casual nod toward the piano in the recording studio, room currently occupied by a quartet. “but I can join you once I’m done, if you’d like.” He followed Nozel with his gaze as Nozel headed for the door without dignifying his offer with a reply. “Text me,” he called cheerfully, and Nozel glanced back at him. “Ci vediamo, Licht,” he said firmly, because he was not pleased with Licht’s idea. Slump? Him? He did not have slumps. No matter how much he didn’t want to do something, that had nothing to do with slumps. And he wanted to play music.

He went to buy coffee at Starbucks, squinted at the _Nuzzle_ the barista had written on the paper cup, but didn’t have energy to comment on the name fail. It was nothing new or surprising. He did send a picture of it to Licht and Fuegoreon though. Even though Licht was a completely normal German word, few people seemed able to spell it right either (though that most likely had more to do with the dazzling smile Licht distracted people with), and Fuegoreon had long since given up on having his name spelled right in any part of the world; they shared them with each other to amuse themselves. Nozel retreated to a park nearby, and sank down on a park bench. He sipped his coffee while he watched the people in the park. A few teens playing ball, an old couple sitting on another bench with their walkers nearby, some mothers with their hawk-like eyes on their little children, and a crazy person walking what had to be nearly a dozen dogs. The last one was the person Nozel focused on, because it was easy to expect chaos to ensue from that amount of dogs of varying sizes. He could remember how difficult it was to walk Fuegoreon’s sister Mereoleona’s seven dogs together with Fuegoreon, it was a complete mess and Mereoleona seemed to find the state they would return in to be absolutely hilarious. And when she walked them, they were perfectly well behaved. When Fuegoreon walked them on his own, they were perfectly well behaved. Dogs probably hated Nozel, was the conclusion Nozel had made. _Or they think you need to exercise more,_ Mereoleona and Fuegoreon and even their little brother Leopold would suggest. Even though he did not lack exercise, particularly not while he was a dancer. The amount of exercise had declined drastically since he hurt his foot and leg, but that did not mean that he was out of shape. Nozel rolled his foot to try to warm up his ankle. Surprisingly, the dog walker seemed to have little problem with the dogs. They didn’t try to drag him in all directions at once, and they didn’t try to run off to play, or jump at people, or bark. Nozel frowned as the dog walker’s chosen path lead him closer toward Nozel. There was something familiar— 

His phone buzzed and played the message tone to alert him to a new text.

> _Absolutely right! You seem drawn to it._

  
“Licht…” He decided to not reply right away. Licht could wait a while. Particularly after a comment _like that_. Nozel looked up when he heard an “Ah!” and at first he thought that it was the dog walker who had lost control of the dogs, but that was not the case. It was the dog walker, yes, but he had not cried out because of the dogs. He was looking right at Nozel, and as Nozel tried to figure out where he had seen him before, the man approached him. When he told the dogs to sit, they obediently did so, but most with curious eyes turned toward Nozel and tails wagging. Nozel frowned at him, unsure why he would approach. “Who are you?”

“Um… From earlier today, at Fluch Schrank——the antiques store.” The man, sheepish-looking and awkward, added the last bit when Nozel didn’t seem to recognize the name of the shop. At which point the penny finally dropped. “Oh.” He looked the other man up and down. “You look so plain that I didn’t remember your appearance.”

“Ouch, that hurts.” The man looked like the type of person who might dramatically clutch his heart to emphasize how the comment had hurt him, had he had any hand free. Thankfully, he did not. “Even if it’s true. I know, I’m plain.” He chuckled, his eyebrows creased even more awkwardly. “But I didn’t come to talk about my looks, I already hear that a lo—ah—never mind that. I wanted to ask, are you alright? You just ran off so, um, I got worried.” Nozel stared up at him in disbelief. “If it’s because of the figurine it’s fine, Gordon — the owner of the store — he wasn’t mad or anything, really. I mean I’ve never seen him actually mad even once so, well.......... Ahm... So I just, wanted to make sure you know that... And I hope you didn’t get hurt? You didn’t cut yourself?”

That wasn’t even why he had left — did he really run or was the man exaggerating? — but maybe it was better if this stranger who probably only was well-meaning thought that he had been worried about the shop owner’s anger, rather than from near-panic. Though he didn’t have to be worried in the first place. Why was he? Nozel flinched when something cold touched his hand, and he snapped his head down to see what it was. A dog pressed its nose against his hand. “Wh-...What?”

“She’s saying hello,” the dog walker explained. “I think they all want to, but they’re very patient dogs for the most part. Or shy.” He glanced to the right, a little behind him, at a specific or a few specific dogs, Nozel couldn’t tell exactly which one. “But I guess Kaspian is the most curious. Right, Kaspian?” The dog poking its nose against Nozel’s hand raised her face toward the dog walker, and lolled her tongue at him. She then turned back to Nozel, and rubbed her nose against his hand again, moving her snout in under his palm. Tentatively, Nozel petted the dog. “Isn’t Kaspian a boy’s name?” he asked, while he watched the dogs in case they turned into balls of energy or feral without warning. The dog happily rubbed her head into his palm. “Yes, but her previous owner called her that, and she seems to like it.”

“So you didn’t rename her when you adopted her.”

The man blinked, tilted his head, and his eyes seemed very big for a few moments, while he watched Nozel. Nozel stared back, captivated by the color. They had seemed a plain brown at first, but once he looked properly, he thought he could see specks of all colors there was, and colors he didn’t even know the name of; a light glow that seemed almost unnatural. 

“—o the shelter.”

Nozel realized that the man had said something, when he heard the end. When he blinked, it felt as if he saw a ripple, like rings on a water surface, though he saw no such thing, and the man’s eyes were simply brown with a few specks of gold and brown, and he was able to tear his gaze away. He felt a little dizzy. “Shelter?” He looked back down at Kaspian the dog. Her tongue was out and her eyes closed and she looked happy. Probably, but he wasn’t certain. He noticed that some of the dogs seemed to be a little restless. The one behind Kaspian had lied down on the ground, though. “The animal shelter not far from here,” the man said. He glanced down at the dogs, looking away from Nozel. “I probably need to head back. You never said if you’re fine or not, by the way.”

“I’m fine.” Physically, at least, but how he felt mentally had nothing to do with this person. They didn’t know each other. Not that he was prone to tell people he knew about his psychological state. He retracted his hand from the dog, who let out a whine. “There is no need for you to be concerned.” The man smiled sheepishly once again. “Ah, alright, if you’re sure.”

The parting was slightly awkward, but the man remained polite and soft spoken. The dogs were obedient and he could maneuver them as he wanted without issue, when he left. Presumably to return to the animal shelter that he had spoken of. Nozel watched him go for a few moments, but he closed his eyes when he felt another wave of nausea. Nozel had to wonder how practical it was to walk that many dogs on a regular basis. Were they short on staff and had so many dogs that it was necessary to walk that many at once? He had never visited any animal shelters, so he didn’t know what they were like. Though he did know that Mereoleona and Leopold had adopted their dogs from shelters, instead of buying them from a breeder. She had explained why she only adopted from shelters once, but it was many years ago and he didn’t remember her reasoning. He did know that his father was of the opinion that if you bought an animal, it ought to be purebred and have a reputable, healthy pedigree. Not that they had had any animals in his family, growing up. Maybe that was why, or at least one of the reasons, why Nozel was not entirely comfortable around animals. Mereoleona had always had several dogs, generally the big sort, but they had lived with her in Spain, both at her family’s estate at Costa Del Sol and their house in Madrid. Not in Italy, where Nozel had lived for most of his life.

Rubbing his temples, he sighed. He should return home and take a nap, to get rid of the nausea, and later try to do something else for a change of pace. Pushing up from the bench, Nozel headed out of the park, deciding to hail a cab instead of walking. On the way to Sans Souci, he leaned his forehead against the car window; in the elevator up to his floor he sent an irritated emoticon to Licht in response to his previous text message.

When he woke up from his nap, dusk had fallen outside the windows. Nozel lay on the bed, looking out through the the window with halfway parted curtains closest to his bed. He reached for his phone, and noticed that he had several texts. He first opened the one from Licht and

> _So?_

  
was the only thing he had written. He had to be referring to the offer that he had made earlier in the day. Nozel sighed, and typed, 

> _No, I’m going out._

  
He didn’t know exactly what he might do out on town, but he thought that he needed something to do, and he didn’t want to simply go back to sleep. He had already had his fill of sleeping all day, day after day after day. He didn’t want to go back to those days, so he needed to do something. Because, most of all, he didn’t want his music to stop.

He was effectively distracted by the image and text Fuegoreon had sent him, and he laughed to himself. Clearly, Fuegoreon had been at Starbucks as well, and his name had been, as was tradition by now, misspelled.

> _First I’m a politician, and then I’m told not to do evil? They’re deep. Yours is much cuter._

  
Nozel didn’t know Chinese, but it was obvious that the barista had originally written _胡鄂公_ but had changed their mind and instead written _怙恶不悛_ underneath the striked out words. 

> _Should I change your name in my address book?_

  
He frowned, and quickly sent Fuegoreon a second text, adding the Silva family pet name used to refer to him. He noticed that he received a new message while he did so. 

> _And I have no desire to be cute, Formaggino._

  
The newest message was from Licht, who had sent him a smiley that probably was supposed to represent him pouting, but it was a bit difficult to be sure. 

> _Abandoning your best friend to the cold, lonely Vienna night? -3- You are utterly heartless, Nozelaki._

  
Nozel huffed. Best friend? They were not that close. Though he didn’t have that many close friends in the first place. And most of his friends were his relatives. He simply sent him a displeased smiley in response, and went on to the message from his sister. Nebra had sent him a series of photos showing off a new dress. It was long, a sparkling deep blue, with a bare back and trailing fabric falling from the gloves. 

> _Quella vestito sembra carina addosso a te. Sembri stupendo._

  
Reply to Nebra sent, he moved on to the message he had dreaded the most; the one from his father. He sighed deeply when he read it, and dropped his phone onto the bedspread to rub his eyes. “Ugh.” A dinner party in Florence next thursday? He didn’t feel like it, and it didn’t matter if it was hosted by the Ansoit family. But father didn’t expect a reply, and wouldn’t accept a no for an answer. “ _Ugh,_ ” he repeated. He pushed himself up to sit, grabbing his phone again to put the date into his calendar. He had to book a flight and a return flight for the day after, and he would have to sort it out with work and he had to choose a suit...He didn’t want to but it would be easier to ask Kirsch to do that for him, so he put in a reminder to talk to him the next day.

Climbing out of the bed, Nozel passed the mirror and brushed his hands over his shirt to straighten out the wrinkles. He could see if there was anything interesting-seeming at any of the nearby cinemas, or check the theatre to see if they had any tickets to anything at all... What a bother. It would be much easier to simply go to a bar. He could have the cab driver suggest one. The drivers usually knew a lot of good spots for different things.

It wasn’t rare for them to be talkative either, particularly once encouraged. He could shut it out or only half listen, but what they said often tended to pass through his head for some hours after. It was annoying, but it was a distraction.

The bar he was driven to was pretty new, it seemed. Fresh, virtually unmarred furniture, clean floors. Very modern and Scandinavian minimalist in style. It was filled with people, many who seemed to recently have gotten off work. Nozel went over to the counter, ordered grilled sandwiches, fried eggs, sausages and a märzenbier. While he waited for the beer, he searched for a seat, and surprised, he met brown eyes under reddish, golden blond hair.

Eyes that widened — and seemed to glow under the lamplight for just a moment — when they met his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   * _Ci vediamo_ = Italian: _See you later._
>   * _Fluch Schrank_ = German: _Hex Cabinet_
>   * _胡鄂公_ = hú è gōng / hu egong (1884-1951), chinese revolutionary and politician
>   * _怙恶不悛_ = hù è bù quān = Chinese: _To keep doing evil without a sense of repentance._ (idiom)
>   * _Formaggino_ = Italian: _Little cheese_ , an affectionate term.
>   * _Nozelaki_ = Greek: the -aki ending means "little" and is an affectionate ending.
>   * The emoticon Licht was supposed to have added was supposed to be the [Pouting Cat Face](https://emojipedia.org/pouting-cat-face/), but when I updated the chapter to fix some spelling errors and the likes, it gave me errors every time, and I realized that it was because of that symbol. It's been switched out for _-3-_ as a result on this site, but if I am able to at a later date, I will be switching it back to the cat face again.
>   * I know absolutely nothing about dresses. Or fashion. So it’s a pretty dismal description of Nebra’s new dress. But think of something [like this](https://www.dhgate.com/product/new-women-ballroom-dance-dress-modern-waltz/406845508.html#s2-2-1b;searl%7C1872377939).
>   * _Quella vestito sembra carina addosso a te. Sembri stupendo._ = Italian: _That dress looks nice on you. You look gorgeous._
>   * Märzenbier, aka March beer, is the most popular beer style in Austria.
> 



	3. Chapter 3

He left. Of course he left. And without saying a word or waking Finral up, too. Finral groaned, dropping down on the couch face first. He tilted his head back to look up when he heard the front door unlock, and he squinted over at Zora. Zora raised a pierced eyebrow high, wordlessly asking _fuck’s up with you?_ because his mouth was full of hot dog so he couldn’t ask it out loud. The hand not holding the key to Finral’s apartment was holding several more hot dogs. “Oh, yes, please, do come in,” Finral muttered, which made Zora raise his other, even more pierced, eyebrow as well. He swallowed so he would be able to speak. “Seriously man, don’t you get dumped all the time? The only reason the chicks go home with you at all is because they got a serious itch to fuck. They’ll obviously leave once they’re done.”

“You’re a great boost to my confidence,” Finral groaned and buried his face in the pillow. He pulled the cover over his head with a rustle of cotton fabric. He was enveloped by the darkness of morning sun through a bed cover and the lack of oxygen it created. There was silence, then the sound of shoes being removed, and a few moments later he felt Zora give the couch a hard kick. “Baszd meg, Finral, you’re so high maintenance.” He violently yanked the cover off of him. “You’re a pain in the ass.— What, you thought this chick was special and wouldn’t ditch you once she was done with you?”

“Shut up, Zora. Can’t I mope a bit when someone that cute and interesting leaves without waking me up or anything or what? Just take your shower and let me be alone for a couple hours.” Zora barked out a laugh and whistled. “You didn’t notice? That’s new, usually you notice. This broad’s good.”

“Zoooraaa.” Finral rolled over, and promptly fell out of the couch and onto the floor. On the way down, he hit his hip against the corner of the table. He groaned in pain. Zora prodded him in the head with a foot. “It’s not like you can be good at fucking anyway, or they’d come back for more. You’re used to this, you fucking dumbass.”

“We didn’t,” Finral said. He heard Zora make a confused sound from the back of his throat, and Finral was forced to elaborate. “We didn’t have sex. They just spent the night in my bed.” He had hoped that Zora wouldn’t take notice of the fact that he didn’t say _she_ , but of course Zora would notice that. So much for trying to be discreet without lying, but damn it, a bartender just had to be observant. The fact that Zora was far too nosy and didn’t give a damn if he was rude as hell didn’t help either. Or maybe it did. It was probably a bit of both. Bartenders didn’t only have to pour drinks. But at the moment, it was nothing but a bother, because he could practically _hear_ the surprised and amused expression on Zora’s face. “So the gays know you suck at fucking so they don’t even bother trying you, just use you to crash.”

“Isn’t that exactly what you do? At right this moment you’re only here to use me for my shower.” Finral jabbed a finger up at Zora. “ _Anyway_ , you take care of opening today, I’ll have things to do once I’m done here.”

“Moping’s not things to do, fatökű lepkevadász. Go to work like a normal person.” Zora gave him a hard shove and turned, heading for the shower. “I _am_ busy! I have to do the books!“ Finral shouted at Zora’s back. He heard Zora mutter to himself in Hungarian, and he groaned, dropping his head back against the floor when Zora disappeared out of sight into the hallway. He heard the sound of the bathroom door shutting with a careless slam.

Zora was right of course. No woman would stay the night with him unless they needed a place to crash, and no woman wanted to sleep with him a second time. He hadn’t slept with this guy though. He refused to sleep with anyone that wasn’t sober. And the guy from yesterday had definitely not been sober at the end of the night. He had become drunk really quickly, actually, and sure they made out a little — before he got that drunk — which was nice, but when Finral had put him to bed he had immediately conked out. Which was good, because you never knew what drunk people might get up to.... And that guy had been cuddly, which was absolutely adorable; he’d sure seen way worse, working at The Black Bull. A serious, gorgeous, clever guy that acted adorably under the influence of alcohol; or at least under the influence of beer. “Oh God,” he groaned, rubbing his face with his hands. He should at least have _tried_ to give him his number earlier in the night. If he’d known he’d ditch before Finral woke up, he definitely would have. “Hahahaha...” Yeah right, sure he would have.

He stayed on the floor, staring out at the cloudless morning sky. “I messed up,” he muttered. Zora huffed, appearing with perfect timing as always. He shuffled through the kitchen on bare feet, rubbing his bright red hair dry with one of Finral’s towels, carefully so the fabric wouldn’t catch in any of his many piercings. “Yep, you fucked up real bad.” Then he added, “This still about the guy that dumped you?”

“He didn’t dump me, we weren’t dating. And yes.”

“Just give it up and be glad he didn’t rob you like some of those bitches’ve done. The hell’s this thing?” Finral turned his eyes in Zora’s direction. He was holding a porcelain figurine in his hand. The figurine the guy from yesterday had dropped in the morning, and Finral had glued back together after leaving Herr Yami’s and Herr William’s apartment at Salisstraße. “Don’t break it,” he just said. It had taken a while to fit the pieces together properly without making the fitted edges jagged, and he didn’t really want to have to do it all over again.

* * *

When Nozel woke up, he had no idea where he was. The wall he was facing had worn wallpaper, while the wallpaper at his place was lighter in color, and much newer. The bed was too hard and the sheets rougher, too. He rolled around, felt a throbbing headache, saw a worn ceiling, and a dirty window and balcony door. Between the bed he was laying in was a couch, a TV, a table, a...probably a bean bag, that seemed to have been repaired more than once, and there was a striped mattress propped up against the wall, held up by the couch. Blearily, he blinked at the room. He saw an opening to what looked like a kitchen, too. And a head of hair in the couch, he realized.

He almost scrambled to sit, but was forced to stop when he suddenly felt sick. He watched the person in the couch, while he tried to figure out where he was. He was hung over, he realized. And fully dressed. That person was... The dog walker. Right, he had met him by chance at that bar, what was it called...? Something with a bird in it, he thought. And they had ended up talking and then... He drank too much, probably, because his memory was a bit hazy. He vaguely remembered kissing though. And a walk and... Not really anything beyond that, so he must have fallen asleep. He usually had at least hazy memories even when he was too drunk to walk straight or without support.

Nozel slowly slid toward the edge of the foot of the bed, which was closest to the opening leading into the kitchen. And there were no other doors in the room he was in, which apparently doubled as both a bedroom and living room, so the front door logically had to be reached through the kitchen.

He was right. The hallway was tiny, with one wall covered by closet doors, and the other two by normal doors, one which presumably led to a bathroom and the other to the stairwell. Feeling another dizzy spell, Nozel turned in the opening between the two rooms, and leaned against the frame. He looked toward the man sleeping in the couch. It was still too dark for it to be easy to see him properly, but he could hear the light breathing and see a little of his face in the light from the shard of the moon hanging on the sky. Nozel frowned. He thought for a moment that it looked as if parts of the man’s skin had deepened in color, but it had to have been an illusion caused by the shadows and the monochrome colors in the room. It only lasted for a moment, too.

But he was reminded of the way the light had played a trick on him before, when the man’s eyes had seemed so different.

On silent feet, he slipped through the arched door opening and headed into the small kitchen. He stopped abruptly when he laid eyes on a twisted form of shadows on the table. It was the figurine that he had broken the previous morning. Careful to not make any loud noises, he walked up to the little table and picked it up. It had been repaired. When he ran a finger gently against the porcelain, he only barely felt the broken edges. It had been repaired with care. The only way he could feel the edges were a few tiny chips that must have disappeared. Porcelain was fragile, and tiny pieces could disappear only to never be seen again, if it was damaged. He put it back down, and quietly headed for the door. Only once he had stepped into his shoes, he let himself waver. Perhaps he could stay a while longer——

But he wasn’t used to this.

It wasn’t that he never hooked up with people. That was pretty common. He wasn’t exactly dedicated to his fiancée, though it was an arranged affair that neither of them cared for at all. But he rarely woke up before the other person, in the middle of the night, and he usually had sex with them. And yet he didn’t think that they had had sex last night, after coming to this place. That made it that much more awkward, because while he knew sex and would often have it again once he and whoever he had shared his bed for the night woke up in the morning but this— this was different. Simply staying the night somewhere, without sleeping with them, with the other person clearly taking into consideration that he was drunk and instead simply making sure he went to bed to sleep properly and it being a person that he actually thought he might hit it off with in a way that felt strange———it was too different for him to know how to face the other man and look him in the eye.

Maybe he could leave his number but——

But he didn’t know if he could do that either.

Besides-...

When he stepped outside, a light drizzling rain was falling from the sky. Nozel looked up to let the drops hit his face, and saw them catch the silver light of the moon, and he lingered by the door. It was beautiful.

He headed down the street, searching for a sign so he could figure out where he was and how to get back to Sans Souci. Eventually he reached a corner, and saw a sign that told him that the dog walker lived on Nobilegasse. It would take close to an hour to walk home, but he could use it, to clear his mind and breathe some fresh air, and rid himself of his hangover. Picking his phone out of his coat pocket, he saw the time turn 03:59, and saw that he had received new messages. He pocketed his phone again. Responding to text messages at this hour would only bother most people that he knew and received messages from, since they lived in the same time zone as he did. And the ones who didn’t would be able to figure out that he was awake far too early in the morning, and would worry.

Walking all the way home in an increasingly heavy rain left him wet into his skin and freezing, so when he reached the hotel an hour later, he filled the tub with hot water. While the water poured from the taps, he wished that he wasn’t so self conscious about the scars on his leg, or he could have gone to the spa. He didn’t like people looking at them, least of all in public. It was one thing to be naked in the bedroom, it was a whole different matter to be naked where anyone might walk in and see. It was why he hated going to the beach, too. One of the reasons. All of those speculations. He also didn’t really enjoy it when random people came up to flirt with him, using the beach as an excuse to be a menace. Nozel put up his wet clothes on clothes hangers, and fetched dry ones. He wouldn’t have the time to go back to bed before nonna would send her usual text message, so finding sleepwear was no use. And rather than sleeping the day away he preferred to actually do something during the day, even if he had the day off. He didn’t want to revert to bad habits. Nozel put his phone down by a folded towel on the floor tiles beside the tub, and picked up the book he was reading from the bedside table. He ran a nail along the top of the pages. He didn’t have much left, only a few chapters. He should bring a new one as well, in case he finished this one.

Cold and naked, he left the warmth that was filling the bathroom, and went to a stack of books he had yet to read. He ended up putting the unread _Artemis_ underneath the nearly finished _Sing, unburied, sing_ , and he turned off the taps and finally slipped down among the bubbles and into the warm water. It burned, a contrast between the warm water and his cold skin, and it was heavenly. He let out a sigh of content. The tub was too small to properly stretch out in, but that didn’t matter. If he wanted to stretch out he could go to the pool. Not that he would. He brushed away bubbles from his face, and he rubbed a hand over his knee. Seeing the scar at the side of the kneecap made him feel queasy, but he couldn’t feel it as much as he could see it, and he could feel nothing in the scar tissue when he touched it. The other scars, further down his leg and much closer to his foot, were hidden by water and bubbles, and it was a relief to not have to see them.

Pulling his hand away, he reached for the towel to wipe his hands dry, and he picked up the book so he could continue reading it, as his body soaked up the warmth of the water.

It wasn’t his intention to fall asleep, but he did. At least he had put aside the book for a few moments to wash his face, so it didn’t end up in the water, but even if the tub was too small to properly lay down in, it wasn’t too safe either.

Which was what he was informed by a deeply scowling Licht, once he was awake. Half awake, at least. He was tired and his body was sore from sleeping in a strange position — and probably from sleeping in a bed that he wasn’t used to — and Licht had wrapped him up in a bathrobe and was rubbing his hair with a towel.

“I thought I asked you to return your key,” Nozel muttered, and in response Licht actually glared at him. “I’ll say it was a good thing I didn’t, or you might have actually ended up drowning like an idiot.” Nozel scoffed. He wouldn’t drown in a tub that small. “Why’re you here?”

“I called several times and didn’t get a response. I had some time to spare and was nearby, so I decided to check in on you,” he explained. He continued, somewhat exasperated. “Seriously, Nozelaki mou, what in the world are you doing, sleeping in the tub?”

“It was an accident,” Nozel said defensively. “What time is it?”

“Nearly midday, which is why I was concerned in the first place.” Nozel felt a chill fall into his stomach, like a big, cold rock of ice, while Licht continued to talk and went to pick up the hair dryer and a brush and comb. “I can’t remember a time where you overslept while you were healthy. What’s going on with you lately?”

“Nothing is _with_ me,” he said. He clutched to the mattress, searching for his phone with distress building in his throat. He grabbed it out of the air when Licht held it out for him. Nozel clutched it close, pressing the home button and seeing that he had many more messages than he had earlier in the morning, and several missed calls.

“You’re going to freak out if you don’t calm down,” Licht pointed out. He turned on the hair dryer. He put one hand on Nozel’s shoulder and squeezed, light yet firm. “Steady your breathing first, gliko, then deal with the rest of the world.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   * _Baszd meg_ = Hungarian: _Fuck it_ or _fuck that_. In this case it’s the former.
>   * _Fatökű lepkevadász_ = Hungarian: Literally means _wooden dicked butterflyhunter_ and is used to refer to a very inept person or a total loser.
>   * _Nozelaki mou_ = Greek: _My little Nozel_.
>   * _Gliko_ = Greek: _Sugar_.
> 



	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter had to be rewritten, because the previous edition was weak. So I started rewriting it while I was doing the laundry this Saturday night. Sitting on a table in a laundry room is ideal writing setting right? Worked for me at least. I overstayed my time to finish the first rewrite but at least I always book the last session. The Finral bit is the biggest victim in my editing, I think, but no part of the chapter has been spared.

After Licht had finished drying Nozel’s hair, he went to the bathroom to empty the tub of the cold water and what few bubbles that were left. Nozel tugged at the end of the braid resting against his shoulder, watching his friend from the bed for a few moments. With a sigh and a feeling of dread, he pulled his legs up on the bed and crossed them in front of himself, and he picked his phone back up. He had too many messages, too many missed calls, and the ones that he knew would be found there made him incredibly unsettled. The ones from Licht he didn’t need to reply to at least, so he only opened them up to skim them through and mark them as read. He sent quick, short replies where he could, chuckled weakly out of pure reflex at a message from Fuegoreon because he was in not in a state where he could truly enjoy things at the moment——and ignored the raised eyebrows Licht turned his way. Licht seemed to turn his focus back onto things in the bathroom without a word. Nozel could hear him rummage through the things in his cabinet in there.

Nozel sighed deeply in restrained distress, a sharp breath, once he — far too quickly — was done with the easy messages and reached the ones that had his pulse rise hard into his throat and cause it to tighten to make the air pass with much more difficulty.

The phone felt scorching hot in his palm when he reached the messages from nonna and opened them up. He scrolled up through them from the newest to the oldest, feeling his breathing get further restricted. The initial text was nothing out of the ordinary, it was the same repetitive buongiorno and uninterested words, but the fact that it had been left unresponded to for several hours was not good. The other messages she had sent made him clench a hand into a fist so tightly that he felt his nails nearly cut wounds into his skin. He had to pause to regain his breath before reading the other messages. The text messages from his father, asking him why he was ignoring his grandmother, was even worse. Padre had apparently called him while he slept, too.

Nozel fell back against the bed just as Licht returned to the room. The pianist put the books he had picked up from the bathroom floor on the bedside table, then his arms crossed over his chest. “Is that comfortable?” He frowned down at him, eyeing Nozel’s position. He had not yet uncrossed his legs. Nozel didn’t answer his question verbally, only shook his head. “Apparently I’m ignoring nonna,” he said. “And the truth isn’t going to fly.”

“Should I talk to her?” Licht offered. Nozel sighed. “No.” Licht hummed. “She likes me though, it would be easy.” Licht’s words were no lie; for some reason nonna really liked Licht, though she had never known that he had been Nozel’s boyfriend for a period of time. Had anyone in his family ever found out about that, things would have been very different now. But somehow just about all of Nozel’s relatives liked Licht. All that had met him, at least. Some didn’t know him at all, because Nozel’s family was a large one, but surely Licht would smoothly be able to seduce the rest of them as well. He just had that sort of ability, as if he exuded some special sort of pheromones, the way vampires might do in books and movies. Though that was a ridiculous thought, because vampires were nothing but fiction; what Licht had was simply incredible people skills and a well-used mask that had a hard time slipping from his face. That wasn’t any form of magic, just natural talent of a completely human level. “You’re far more manipulative than your fans think.“

Licht pouted in faux innocence at Nozel’s words. He remembered some of the expressions that he had seen on Licht’s face, which didn’t fit his outward appearance at all. If his fans saw that deadly expression, they would despair. The media would have a field day. Or rather at least a couple dozen. They would love to unravel Licht and dig through the details about him. The pianist didn’t exactly have a widely known past; the paparazzi hadn’t kept their eyes on him since his birth as they had on Nozel. There were still a lot of things that Nozel didn’t know, too, even if he knew more than most people might. Though Licht wasn’t the only musician that Nozel knew of who had a past shrouded in mystery. Nozel's favourite musician had even less of himself known, including most of his face.

Nozel shuddered when he felt a sudden chill run down his body and give him goosebumps. It was far too cold in this room, even though he was sure that the thermostat was the same as always. It wasn’t like it was winter either. Was there a window open somewhere? “I can’t have you help me with everything.”

“You say that all the time, but I don’t mind helping you out.” Heading over backwards toward the closet, Licht watched Nozel with a critical eye. “Even you need help sometimes, palikaraki mou— don’t roll your eyes at me like that, Nozelaki, it’s not cute.”

“You and Leon both…” Why was it that they seemed to think that he wanted to be called cute? Nozel kept his eyes on the phone’s display and the message that he was typing, editing the phrasing until he was satisfied. Which was difficult. He erased it completely several times, because when it came to his father and grandmother, he would always be at a disadvantage. “I’m not interested in being cute.” Possibly... He might be able to use similar messages, with both nonna and padre.... If he took care with it and made sure the messages were not identical or phrased badly toward one or the other.

Nozel tore his eyes from the phone when Licht dropped clothes in his face. He pushed them aside and glared up at him, and received a smile of pure innocence in return. Nozel left the clothes where they were, partially draped over his throat and chest, and refocused his attention onto his phone. He didn’t need distractions right now, thank you very much. He needed to deal with this before he got into even more trouble. Or before he was crushed into submission by his nerves. Licht chuckled at the insults Nozel muttered at him in Italian for a few moments.

Apologizing for not replying right away, explaining that he had been occupied with work since early until now — telling Licht to vouch for him, because at least his family didn’t have the contact information to his work related associates.

So maybe he did need a little bit of help, but he didn’t need the man to actually talk to his grandmother for him. Padre would think him pathetic for it, and he would probably be hearing about how only pathetic weaklings needed other people to get them out of tight spots. And Silvas were not pathetic weaklings.

Licht clearly thought it was amusing that Nozel asked him for help so soon after he had claimed to not need any help from him, though he didn’t turn down the request. He was a good friend, Nozel supposed. “So you want me to fib for you? Sure. You’re lucky you don’t actually have any recording sessions today. Now put on some clothes and sleep in your bed instead, so you don’t end up getting sick.” Nozel wrinkled his nose at the man, then let his face fall into a neutral expression as he pushed himself up to sit again.

“I don’t know... Maybe I’d be excused from going to Florence if I got sick,” Nozel pondered after he finally settled on the messages. He knew that he wouldn’t get out of it unless he got hit by another car or ended up in a coma again though. And even then it would be hard to make padre accept it. Nozel started scrolling through his contacts to find Kirch’s number and, without looking, fumbled for the sweater Licht had fetched for him. He might as well deal with his cousin right away, before he forgot about it.

Licht made a noise that was a mix of confused and thoughtful. “Florence?”

“A dinner party I have to attend on thursday.” He sputtered when he got his mouth full of sweater fabric. Swiping Kirsch’s name to the side to call him and turning on the speaker, he dropped the phone back on his bed while he finished dressing in the warm sweater he had bought a few weeks ago and the soft trousers that he generally only wore at home. “Hallo, Honigbär! What a surprise t—” Nozel picked up the phone, turned the speaker off, and pressed the phone to his ear. He ignored the look on Licht’s face; he always wore such annoying expressions when he overheard any of the family pet names they used, as if it was the most amusing thing in the world no matter how many times he heard it. “—t a call from you! What a delight, that you wish to hear my voice so badly! Of course I will grant it, dear cousin!” Nozel rolled his eyes. Kirch could ramble on forever unless he was cut off. Generally about himself. “Yes, I’m absolutely delighted.” Nozel made sure his voice was dripping with sarcasm. “If you could spare me some time to give me some fashion advice within the nearest upcoming days—”

“Of course!” _Of course_ , Nozel thought too, when Kirsch cut him off. There was actual delight in his cousin’s voice. He was a bother and an annoyance, but he was useful at times like these. Nozel had sometimes brought him along to buy suits for performances, though he had a tailor that he relied upon even more than he did his cousin when it came to suits. “I will be right over—” Kirsch was cut off again, not by Nozel this time, but by his coach, who apparently did not agree with this plan, so Kirsch quickly adjusted his words after his _But Catherine—_ was brutally shot down by his fearsome coach. “I’ll come over once I am done with practice! I am currently working on a number for an exhibition,” he continued, and Nozel huffed, which Kirsch took no notice of. Or as a sign to continue talking, though how he could interpret the noise as a sign to talk even more, Nozel never understood. Unbidden, his cousin continued to detail the performance, which was meant to be for some form of Fashion on Ice or other similar thing taking place in a few weeks. Nozel saw Licht make some hand gestures at him, and turned his attention to him instead of keeping it on whatever Kirsch was saying. Something about a combination spin or other. _I’m going to go get us something to eat. Do you want anything in particular?_ They, him and Licht, had developed their own version of sign language, a blend of real signs and their own signs, to communicate during things such as phone calls or normal conversations. The signs included a lot of subtle motions, that could be used in a public setting without letting anyone else know that they were talking to each other. It had originated from a desire to be able to get away from some troublesome musicians that Nozel didn’t like much. Nozel made a few motions in reply. _Not really no, I’m fine with anything,_ but then he added, _maybe junk food_ , and Licht shrugged in amusement. Nozel wasn’t a big fan of junk food, but sometimes he felt like he needed it. And at the moment, he felt like he really did. When he watched Licht pick up his wallet from his jacket Nozel recalled that Licht had called himself Nozel’s best friend before, and as Kirsch rambled on about how his outfit would catch the light just the right way with this one jump to perfectly show Kirsch’s best side (which was apparently every side), Nozel wondered if that really might be true.

* * *

When Finral returned home to his apartment, he was met by a pile of chaos, with shoes and jackets just thrown on the floor by the door. There was no space to step on, and even before he could close the door to his apartment, he had to shove them aside to open up some space to put down his feet at and he had to nudge some aside to have anywhere to put his umbrella. As a result, curses spilled out into the stairwell, echoing down the stone steps and bare plaster walls.

“What the hell! Cut that out you asshole!”

“I’m not doing anything wrong, it’s your own fault for being so weak!!”

“I’m not weak! Fucker, you’re only targeting me!! Hit somebody else too!!!”

“But it’s so funny to watch you fly!”

Closing the door behind him, Finral moved over to the fridge and put away the groceries, including a lot of beer and a fair deal of meat and vegetables, and swatted away Charmy’s ‘’helpful’’ hands. She just wanted to eat all this food he just brought home with him. He was sure that she would succeed before the end of the night.

“ _FUCK YOU, SHITHEAD!_ ”

“Don’t swear in front of my angel, do you want to die, you asshole?”

Finral rolled his eyes at the irony in Gauche’s words. Magna did not meet the line with silence, as Finral did.

“Shut it, siscon!”

“Throw yourself in the river and drown, shitty mohawk.”

“Ahahaha!! Look you got stuck!!”

As Luck laughed his ass off at Magna’s plight, Finral heard Gauche ask Marie where she was going, and heard Marie tell him to continue playing with his friends. She came traipsing out into the kitchen and because she was a sweet kid (and because the door to the bathroom she needed to use was blocked) she helped Finral line up all the shoes neatly in front of the closet in his tiny hallway, and hang up all the jackets. He patted her head as he gave her his thanks and she beamed up at him. She went inside the bathroom and he headed out into the kitchen. To no surprise, he saw Charmy eyeing the fridge. She was just waiting for him to turn his back on it and her so she could raid it, he could tell. He could feel Gauche’s murderous gaze on him. Marie may be sweet, but her brother was not.

“You gotta be kiddi— C’mon are you serious?!”

“Eat my shit, losers!”

Finral looked over at the group sitting in front of his TV. Luck under the table, Magna standing up with one foot on the table by now as he was shouting and steering his car along the track with his whole body, Zora sitting cross-legged in the middle of the bunched-up comforter that he used when he stayed over laughing his ass off as he once more sped past the place on the race track where Luck was repeatedly mauling Magna’s car off of the rainbow road. They continued to shout at each other, sometimes spewing off in languages other than German, and Marie wandered back soon, to climb into her brother’s lap to happily watch the colorful action on the tv screen from the seat of the abused old couch. It made Gauche calm down considerably for at least a few moments, and turn his murderous looks away from Finral. In the kitchen, Charmy was eating him out of house and home, and on his bed, Vanessa was snuggling a near-empty bottle of brandy. He looked over as he heard the door open.

“I’m sorry for being late,” Grey said, flustered as she stepped inside. For all her shyness, she had stopped knocking in favor of simply stepping inside some while ago now, just like everybody else had. Really, Finral lived in zero privacy here. Not that he hated it; he was really happy to have friends these days. Before he ended up in Austria with Herr Yami, Finral didn’t really have any friends unless you counted Finnes. And that was... That was a little complicated. And thinking too deeply about the time he had dubbed _Vor der Stier_ in his mind was something he found both depressing and unpleasant. Finral shook his head hard to clear it while Grey went to sit on the couch’s armrest where Marie grasped her skirt while still eyeing the tv. Yeah, he was pretty happy these days, Finral thought. There were downsides and times he felt absolutely miserable but he was for the most part happy. He didn't need to make it go sour right now.

“Hey dog, go shake water somewhere else,” Zora scoffed at him; it was true that Finral had recently come inside from the rain but he had used an umbrella, he was only damp, not wet. “You’re a terror,” he said in response to Zora, whose face split into a sharp grin. “And you’re a wimp, Lófaszt.”

Finral groaned. “Don’t call me that.” He stepped up into the bed and tried to not step on Vanessa while he fetched the empty bottles spread around her on the wobbly mattress. He would probably have to get a new one this year, this one had lived out its lifespan. “Which one?” Zora asked over Magna’s cursing of Luck and Gauche’s cursing of Magna. Finral was pretty sure that his bed had been made half an hour ago when he stepped outside, but the bedsheet was pushed up against the wall and the duvet bunched up half out of its cover. “The seco— both!” Finral shouted. His neighbour punched the wall a couple times; Zora spun around and kicked the wall once and shouted curses toward it, and Finral groaned again. Come on, really? Did he _have_ to do that? “Stop doing that!” Zora flipped him off. “Try’n stop me, you wimpey Lófaszt.” The apartment wall-to-wall with his had gone deadly silent.

“What does Lofast mean?”

Finral froze; Gauche seemed about ready to die. Not that Gauche spoke Hungarian, but Zora said a lot of crude things in Hungarian, it was the largest part of his Hungarian vocabulary around the rest of them, so it wasn’t hard to guess that he was saying something a child should not hear even when she didn’t understand it.

None of them wanted to answer Marie’s question.

Except Zora, which wasn’t a surprise. “It means horsedi—“

Finral had already supposed that Zora would tell her, and because he actually understood Hungarian pretty well and did not want a bloodbath in his apartment, he let the bottles in his hand fall back to the mattress and reached out in front of him. A warp gate spread in front of his fingertips and his wrists disappeared past the shimmering, murky surface. Finral covered Zora’s mouth with his hands. “ _Do not!_ I swear I will drop you in the middle of the alps or something!”

“‘Or something’ is weak.” Zora swatted away Finral’s hands and Finral pulled them back out of the gate. The gate’s surface rippled, its light fracturing across the room for another moment, until it disappeared into nothing. Finral huffed. He crouched down to pick the bottles back up again. One had rolled against Vanessa’s face and she squinted up at him still mostly asleep. “‘nother round,” she said at the same time as Finral snapped “It’s not,” at Zora. He added, “No more rounds,” to Vanessa. Zora stuck out his tongue in answer, and added a few more curses to it. Finral noticed that Zora had gotten yet another piercing in his tongue, as if he actually needed more of them. He tried to pull Vanessa’s freshly emptied bottle from her hand but she clutched it tightly to her chest and he sighed and made do with his current armful of clinking bottles. He was supposed to have had a little time off after his newest spy session before going in to work early tomorrow to leave a report, and here he was, somehow with a game night going on in his apartment when he came home. He stepped out of the bed and deposited the bottles in the kitchen. “Vanessa, play some instead of just drinking. Hey guys, make some space, I wanna play too.”

Luck instantly ran him off the road (it had been suspicious how obliging the boy was in the first place, rolling over to open up some floor space for Finral; Vanessa had stolen Magna’s space in the couch and had been cussed out as a result, but as she had pointed out: Magna wasn’t even sitting down any more), and the moment he was dropped back on the road it his phone rang. It was all the way over on the kitchen counter, and Charmy almost ate it before he snatched it out of her hand via the use of a hastily opened gate. In the middle of his hello he was hit in the head by the soda can Luck kinesised from the fridge at far too high speed and he groaned. “He-Herr Yami, what’s wrong?” He should have been busy hooking up with William at this hour, so why he was calling Finral, he didn’t get. “If you’re out of condoms again I’m not picking any up for you no matter what you say.” He could feel Gauche’s murderous gaze return to him, but Marie seemed to not have heard a word of what Finral had said. She had been handed Finral’s controller when he had to take Yami’s call and was trying following Luck's instructions to run Magna off the road. Everyone were such terrible influence on the kid.

“It’s noisy over there so you’re with everyone else huh, good, you dumbasses have to get to the bar stat.” Yami’s voice was serious, and it made Finral wonder even more what was wrong. Sure sometimes Yami and William didn’t even get out the bar door after the shop closed up when William was visiting instead of going back to their apartment, but they were then too busy to make or take any calls.

Yami hung up in the middle of Finral trying to ask why they had to do that all of a sudden. Finral groaned and rubbed his eyes with the balls of his hands. “Guys, Herr Yami wants all of us to come to the bar.” Yay, it was so fun to convince them to stop their game and head out. They were not happy with him. Couldn’t Yami have stayed on the line so Finral could put him on speaker? That would have made things much easier.

It wasn’t that Yami’s tone of voice had to necessarily be an indication to something serious happening, but his timing usually was. Yami would never pass up the chance to fuck William through a table (literally, a few times) unless he absolutely had to. So Finral had to bring the rest of the guys with him to The Black Bull even if he had to open a large gate underneath them and drop them into a pile on the floor.

* * *

While Licht was gone, Nozel had ended up falling asleep. Licht had woken him up when he got back instead of letting him sleep only because the burger would get weird if it was reheated. For some reason Licht had decided to stick around while Nozel took a proper nap after that, maybe to make sure that Nozel actually went to bed, but it was a relief to have him there in case padre called while Nozel was clocked out. Padre didn't call, though, which was an even bigger relief. Nozel had woken up hours later to some guy getting murdered on one of those many American CSI shows that were impossible to keep track of and he found Licht sitting cross-legged and leaning back against his arms on the bed, and Nozel didn’t bother asking him to check what else was on. Instead he somehow ended up rolled up beside Licht with his head in his lap and Licht playing with his braid while the man kept watching his crime show. Licht, for some reason, enjoyed to watch shows where people got murdered. Despite what he had told Nozel had happened in his well-hidden past.

Eventually — a late hour of eventually — Kirsch showed up knocking at the door with coffee in hand. Was that some form of bribery so Nozel wouldn’t just try to get business quickly over with and then shove him back out? Because it was no secret that Nozel drank a lot of coffee in a day. And he had not had enough today, since he had stayed inside and slept for several hours. He had, to his annoyance, started coughing before Licht shoved him back to bed after the junk food was all eaten, though it was better at the moment. Hopefully he wasn’t getting a cold from sleeping in the tub. He might pretend that it was possible to use it as an excuse to get out of the dinner at Dorothy’s, but that was just fantasy.

Some British gardening show played in the background while Kirsch ransacked Nozel’s closet and took out all his good suits — which were all of them because he did not pinch pennies on suits, since he wore them to performances and the like. Nozel could barely see any of the furniture in the room, once Kirsch had taken them all out; there was only the bulky shapes of the bed, the table, the armchair, every single other piece of furniture.

“You had to take out every single one of them?” he asked his ridiculous cousin; his ridiculous cousin nodded, a hand to his chin. “Because they’re all high-quality. You have a good tailor, I’d like his–her? her number later.”

Nozel huffed, grunted in acknowledgement (knowing he would probably have to apologize to Miss Edwards later), brushed his bangs out of his eyes. “And you expect me to try them all on?” Although he curled the words to sound as if he were asking a question, he already knew the answer. He didn’t have to ask at all. Because of course that was exactly what Kirsch expected him to do. “Yes! Of course, otherwise I won’t know which ones to choose.” Licht commented, “It’s like a private fashion show, it’s been a while. You can do the catwalk,” and Nozel glared at him and remembered other ‘private fashion shows’ that they had had back when they were still dating. Kirsch rolled his eyes and picked up a dark blue suit. “Start with this one.”

As he took the suit Kirsch handed him Nozel muttered to himself under his breath, “Sei minaccia totale, babbei,” and Kirsch chuckled. Licht laughed. Nozel retreated to the bathroom to change. Licht had seen him naked countless times and he had known Kirsch since the man was a baby and they both knew very well about his scars but despite that, he was not comfortable enough in his own skin to expose them just like that even to them. Plus, he knew that Kirsch would get that annoying look of sympathy that told Nozel that he was thinking what a shame it was that his beautiful skin had been marred by something so ugly— and Nozel hated that. He hated every reminder.

He tried on suits and matched ties for what felt like many hours, but which were in reality probably only a few. But eventually, after room service had brought up food that they had consumed, Kirsch seemed to be debating only between a few suits and ties. Licht deposited the discarded suits back into the closet, and Nozel let Kirsch pick about with all his ties to try to find good matches. The british gardening show had long ended, and the late night news had just started airing.

None of them were really looking, but one sentence managed to catch Nozel’s attention and pull his full focus toward the tv. He hurried to pick up the remote, discarded on the bed half buried under a pair of trousers, and turned up the volume. He ignored the looks of confusion that the other two gave him, his attention focused on nothing but the tv.

An explosion in another part of the city, not familiar to him because he didn’t frequent it but, the name of the place that had been blown up was one he was somewhat familiar with. Silver Eagle.

That was the name of the bar he gone to last night.

The bar where he met that dog walker for the third time that day. Where he got drunk and used bad pickup lines that somehow was met with an endearing smile. Where he had kissed a stranger and later been told, _you're too drunk to properly consent,_ by some far too sweet guy.

It was only recent, happened barely half an hour ago. The news were reporting live from the site. Or at least that was what it seemed like; they did like to show the same newsreel over and over during a day. But it was dark where the reporter stood, lit up only by the street lights, the lamps turned on in the windows, bluelights, and the fire the firefighters were extinguishing.

It was the name of the bar that had initially caught his attention and kept it on the screen, but it was the crowd in the background that had him look more closely. One of the people in the crowd watched by a few cops looked far too familiar to him.

As he hurried forward toward the screen to get a better look, Nozel didn’t properly watch where he was going. Because some of his furniture had been moved during the evening so that Kirsch could dramatically sit in the armchair and look at the suits still laid out on the bed, that was a mistake. Nozel walked straight into the armchair, and his damaged foot was the first thing that made impact.

The pain that shot up Nozel’s leg was searing, made his vision go entirely white for a moment, and then it blurred. Nozel dropped down to the floor clutching at his ankle, spewing out a string of curses in every language that he knew until the words faded into only “cazzo” on repeat. He could only vaguely hear the other two’s voices blend with the newscaster’s. Fucking hell it _hurt_.

“Holy shit-..!!” Kirsch slipped down from his seat and onto the floor beside Nozel; Licht hurried over the bed instead of around it, saying something that Nozel didn’t grasp, maybe it was Greek, but Nozel wasn’t in a state to tell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   * _Padre_ = Italian: _Father_.
>   * _Palikaraki mou_ = Greek: _My little tough guy_ ; an affectionate term.
>   * _Hallo_ = German: _Hello_.
>   * _Honigbär_ = German: _Honey bear_.
>   * _Vor der Stier_ = German: _Before the Bull_.
>   * _Lófaszt_ = Hungarian: _Horsedick_.
>   * _Kinesised_ , short for “using telekinesis on something/someone” or something like that.
>   * _Sei minaccia totale, babbei_ = Italian: _You're total menaces, fatheads_.
>   * _Cazzo_ = Italian: _Fuck_.
>   * Technically, German is the main language that they speak in this story unless otherwise specified, but I wanted to use some actual German as well, so family nicknames from the German side of the Vermillion family will at least be kept that way, as well as some other terms once in a while, or insults that becomes very weird in English, or such.
> 



	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   * Anyone else cried so much they ended up getting the hiccups when reading the end of chapter 163?
>   * In this chapter, Italian is the main language. In the previous chapters it’s been German and later it’ll go back to being German.
>   * This chapter also contains **mental health issues and suicidal thoughts. Some mental abuse too,** I’d say. Another warning is Old Man Silva.
> 


Dealing with airport security was always a bother, not because it delayed him by much but because he hated how exposed the extra screening made him feel, and the reminders it unavoidably caused, and Nozel regretted more than once that he had not taken the train to Florence instead. He had almost decided to change transportation methods at least half a dozen times, but in the end he didn't want to spend too much time traveling, since that would mean that he had to leave home much earlier, as well as return home much later. He wanted to be home as much as possible if he could help it. And dealing with his family never went right, particularly if his father was in any way involved. It was not unreasonable to think that it would be a disaster for his mental health, to meet his father, and that it was not only for a few hours at a party did not make things easier. Father wouldn’t cause a scene in public, but unfortunately an overnight stay would be required of them all, as was tradition whenever either family visited one another. To give the lovebirds some time to catch up, they said, which was a laughable thought.

Now that he was finally through the airport security and sitting on the plane, Nozel was trying not to continue being annoyed at the guards he had had to deal with, but he was tired and stressed and didn't want to go at all. His father would be there and so would, he had come to understand, Noelle. Why father felt it necessary to bring her out in public when nothing good was bound to come out of it, he did not understand. Nozel squeezed the cross hanging from its chain around his neck in his hand. The points pressed into his palm, causing a somewhat comforting pain to his skin. He didn’t, he really didn't, want to see her. Father alone was bad enough. His nails scraped against his trousers and he could feel the curve of the metal cap underneath his skin. He balled up his hand into a fist. He really wanted to just return home. But he couldn't. He had forgotten that this time of the year, he was always forced to go to Florence. After all, the birthday girl's fiance couldn't be absent. It would reflect poorly on both the Silvas and the Ansoits. And it was, once again, Dorothy's birthday. It felt like it happened far more often than once a year. Time away from his family passed by so quickly, he almost hated it.

Once Nozel had actually remembered that it was her birthday, he had already arrived at the airport. He had some time to kill before it was time to board the plane, so he had texted her, asking what she wanted as a present. He didn’t care that she would know that he had forgotten; she wouldn’t care anyway. He only got her presents for appearance’s sake, and she wasn’t much better most of the time anyway. Her reply had been one word: _pecora_. He had tipped his head back with a sigh on his lips and accidentally hit his head against the wall. It wasn’t as painful as some things he had experienced, though it sent a web of light across his vision. How the hell did she expect him to give her a sheep? Alright, fine, he would try, but only because he owed her. So he made a search, looking for sheep farmers in the Florence area. Once he landed he would have to tell her that she would have to wait until he found one from a reliable person before she could get one.

In the meantime he had an hour and a half of time to kill while he was stuck on the plane, with a seat neighbour who glared at him and the crutch he had brought with him, because though a few days had passed since he walked into that unfortunately placed chair, he still couldn't fully support himself on that foot. He put in his headphones, scrolled through the playlist on his phone until he found what he was looking for and pressed play. Getting a book out of his bag, he tried to focus on reading as the sound of classical music played in the background.

But he couldn't focus on the book. Not even the music managed to entirely calm his racing mind even though it usually helped at least a little. His thoughts wandered back to what he had seen on the TV during the news report. It had been the man from the night before, the dog walker whose apartment Nozel had stayed the night at. He had no doubts about that. He may have been just another bystander in the back of the video feed, and he might be the person that stood out the least among all the people in the crowd, but the recognition had been instant. He was plain, just as Nozel had told him, yet he remained in Nozel’s memory so vividly now, not because of his appearance, but because of his kindness. It was impossible to mistake him for someone else.

Licht and Kirsch had not understood why Nozel had suddenly charged toward the TV. They had not understood why he stared at the TV once the news were rebroadcasted while they were in the emergency room. Nozel had been given painkillers so he didn’t feel like he was passing out, but he needed to wait for a doctor to look at his foot, to determine if he had sprained it or broken it. He had only sprained it, which was a relief, but it was still excessively painful thanks to it being his bad foot. He had been distracted by the rebroadcast, his thoughts had spiraled, and suddenly tapered piano fingers snapped in his face and he realized he was in an examination room.

Later he had found the news broadcast on the web, and had paused it part-way through to get a better look that wasn’t as brief. Kirsch had commented on a red-haired guy covered in piercings standing next to the dog walker talking to him. Nozel hadn't even noticed him before, only the guy whose place he had crashed at.

He still wondered about that. The place that had blown up was the bar he had encountered him at for the third time during the third. Nobody had been hurt, as the bar had been empty at the time of the incident and it wasn’t such a large explosion that it affected the apartments on top of it all that much. This far there were no news regarding who might have done it, and there had been no mentions on what sort of bomb it was that had caused it— or if it was simply a gas leak or something else that had simply gone wrong, rather than an intentional attack. Nobody had come forth to claim responsibility for it, though that wouldn’t necessarily happen. Why blow up a brand new bar, though? It wasn’t yet well established, and its destruction would technically not affect many people, only the ones who owned it, worked there, delivered wares there, and those who lived and worked nearby. Why that man was in the area at the time of the recording, Nozel did not know. What had he said, when they talked at the bar? He only remember a few slivers of what had been said on the way to his apartment. He remembered a bit more from the bar after he got drunk but there was a hazy film over the memories. He really should be more careful with alcohol; somehow the only things he didn’t get drunk off of was wine and champagne, and that was much more psychological than anything else, he was pretty sure. Because he had gotten accustomed to drinking wine and champagne around his father, and he really could not afford to get drunk around him. The tension seemed to keep him sober, and he could not drink either beverage without the tension settling in his shoulders. But normal beer knocked him out far too easily.

His name... They completely forgot to introduce themselves. He remembered seeing a name on the front door, but he had been pretty out of it at the time, and he didn’t remember what it was, beyond that it was long. Or had seemed long, at least. He knew that at one point in time he had thought his own name as too long to remember, yet somehow he kept calling Licht by his full name at the time. Licht Gschwendtner-Meusburger thought it was far too amusing, and they were not even dating or close friends back then. Plus his father knew so many people with long and overly complicated names so forgetting even a single name was ridiculous and it made him feel incredibly irresponsible. _A Silva does not forget names._ Or forget to ask about them. If his father found out.. Nozel sighed, and he rubbed a hand over his face. But _a Silva also doesn’t get hung up on random people they barely know, and they don’t think even in jest that maybe it isn’t coincidence, but fate._ Generally, running into the same person several times in a day shouldn’t be seen as a coincidence, it should be a cause for concern and an eye open for stalkers. Fate wasn’t real, but stalkers were. Even though mother had been cath—— but _a Silva didn’t mourn losses beyond the obligatory one year._

Somebody tapped Nozel on the shoulder, bringing him out of his thoughts and his nth attempt to remember things more clearly. When Nozel looked to the side, he saw that it was the person in the seat next to him, looking at him with a deep scowl and a look of utmost displeasure. Nozel pulled one of the earbuds out of his ear. Nozel turned to her, keeping his expression neutral. “Yes?” He didn’t want to deal with people right now, though he tried to control his face so his expression didn’t go too dark. If anybody recognized him and saw it, it might cause problems one way or the other. “Turn your phone off,” the woman said in English, giving him a dirty look. “It is on airplane mode, which is enough.” The woman did not look convinced by his words. Nor did she sound it, when she raised her voice and inadvertently attracted a lot of attention to herself and, as a result, to Nozel as well. Inwardly, Nozel groaned and cursed. He really did not need this right now. Or ever. But particularly not right now simply because it was right now that it was happening.

“Turn it off, I said,” she insisted. She had a ridiculous faux-posh accent that did not sit right in her words. Sort of like an American trying to speak with a British accent, he thought. She exuded the attitude of one expecting to never be turned down no matter what it concerned. Nozel could feel an ache slowly start to throb at the back of his head. Why this... When he was already going to be forced to deal with his father and younger sister. He decided to ignore the woman, and turned away and back toward his book. Maybe he shouldn’t have, because the woman called for a flight attendant and he ended up getting shoved in the shoulder by the woman. The woman did not agree with his explanation to the flight attendant, but the flight attendant didn’t agree with the woman. It wasn’t absolutely necessary to shut off the phone entirely, so long as it was in airplane mode. The woman in the seat next to him was not appreciative of the flight attendant’s guarantees that everything was in order. Her face and her words were filled with disdain and insult. The _fucking foreigners_ she spewed out among her insults without even trying to hide it was not appreciated by either Nozel or the flight attendant, or by the people overhearing her. Nozel hated people so much, particularly in instances like these.

In the end, the woman was relocated, since the flight attendant managed to find a passenger who didn’t mind switching seats and also managed to convince the woman that it would be easier for her to move, since Nozel was injured. Though it was the part where the woman realized that she would have to get up either way and probably for a longer time if Nozel were to switch seats, that made her agree to move seats. Nozel made sure that he would leave tip behind for the flight attendant, since he was grateful for her help. His new next-seat neighbour stared straight into his book for the remaining part of the flight. That was thankfully the end of the disturbances on the flight into Italy. There was slight turbulence for a few minutes, but it was nothing he wasn’t used to so he wouldn’t call that a disturbance, though some less accustomed to flight seemed stressed by it. He was relieved to get out of the plane once it landed.

At the airport, he found a toilet and used it as a makeshift changing room. He had practically been ordered by Kirsch to wear his hair in a fishbone braid of a particular sort, after Kirsch had tried several hairstyles on him without permission. Apparently the plait looked the best with the gray suit and his eyes, or so his cousin claimed before starting an impromptu lesson on how to do the plait. It was a pain in the ass to work and it took him several frustrating attempts to make it look presentable. He had also been ordered to send Kirsch a picture of how he ended up looking, which Nozel did not do.

When he was finally done he took a taxi to the Ansoit mansion and texted Dorothy on the way, and he eventually stepped out onto a well-lit porch. It almost looked like it was still the middle of the day, even though the sun had started to sink toward the horizon. It was a fancy building not unfamiliar to him, considering the many times he had been there even before his engagement to the couple’s only child was decided upon. It was a large place, with several garages for all of Gabriele’s personal vehicles. He had ended up dealing cars and such out of interest in them and a desire to own a lot of old, fancy cars. On that interest, he had built an imperium. He had already been a wealthy man before that, but he almost outclassed the Silvas these days. And unlike Nozel’s father, Gabriele didn’t have his fingers in half a dozen pies at once, so Nozel could argue that Gabriele had a sharper business sense than Ermes did. He could also point out that his father was a better dancer than he was a businessman, and that father was nowhere near as talented at dancing as mother had been. He could, technically, but he would not. That would be yet another way of asking for trouble.

Giulia greeted him with warmth, and Nozel wanted to leave. She was a welcoming, warm woman, ideal as a mother-in-law, but being around her made him miss his own mother something terribly. She didn’t mind him calling her Mother, but it was impossible for him to do that. _Mother_ was a word he had barely been able to say out loud for over fifteen years. Giulia ushered him inside, chattering on in a way neither her husband or daughter were capable of, informing him that his father had yet to arrive but they believed he would do so shortly (which he didn’t have to do, he could be late even though he surely wouldn’t be), and telling him that they had prepared his usual room for him (one of the best guest rooms they had, not far from Dorothy’s rooms), and that Dorothy had been looking forward to seeing him (which he doubted; it was probably the promise of a sheep she was looking forward to), and a whole lot of other things as well. Giulia could put in a lot of words during a very short amount of time.

He met Gabriele at the door to one of the parlours, and Giulia disappeared shortly after to welcome some other newly arrived guest. Gabriele told him all about his newest car, a Porsche of some sort from 1956 that he had finally found in original coloring, bought it off of a Peruvian monk’s sister. Nozel wasn’t really interested but he could deal with platitudes. He was shunted off to the side when the Roselei’s arrived all the way from Venice. Would Solid be here as well, then? If both his father and his instructor were making an appearance. What about Nebra?

Nozel moved over to Dorothy, who was sitting in a chaise lounge beside a large potted plant. She was, unsurprisingly, asleep. He still murmured a greeting to her, then sat down beside her in an attempt to make himself less attractive to speak to. People were well aware of the engagement and also knew that they rarely met, and believed that they were taking the opportunity to catch up after a long time apart. He didn’t mind encouraging this misconception. How many really believed the very true rumour that Dorothy slept most of the time, he had to wonder. Or did they believe the rumour that she only was demure, instead of actually asleep? As expected, Dorothy showed no reaction to his presence, but at least staying near her was bound to keep some people away.

“So you’re here.” He turned his gaze up toward the woman who had stopped in front of him. One of her hands was on her hip and she was scowling down at him as she usually did. Though she usually scowled _up_ at him, as he was slightly taller than her. “You look good tonight, Charlotte,” he said as he barely passed a glance over the dark blue dress she was wearing, instead of pointing out that _of course he’d be here, as if he had a choice_. She huffed in derision. “And you do not,” she retorted. He raised an eyebrow at her, and she said in way of explanation, “Your cousin is an absolute horror.” She sat down on the chaise lounge on Nozel’s other side, her pearl-decorated clutch in hand and her scowl directed toward the room. “Terrorizing me to check up on your appearance. He sent me near a dozen pictures of your hair. Not that I’m surprised.”

“You did have your own specific opinions about my appearance back then,” Nozel thought out loud. He remembered all those years ago, when she had been his partner on the dance floor. “It’s impossible to stop him, anyway.”

“So you’re not going to apologise. Very well. You always were like that.” He glanced over at her. Subconsciously, he reached for his necklace, but changed the motion to adjust his necktie instead. The little silver cross was resting against his skin hidden by his shirt, he couldn’t get a hold of it right now without disrupting his collar. “And what is ‘like that’ meant to be like?” She shrugged. The hair falling like a river across her shoulder rippled like golden liquid in its ponytail. They had always been a beautifully contrasting pair on the dance floor, or so the judges, reporters, and audience stated. A braid was wrapped around the base of the tail. “Unmanageable,” she said eventually. “I’m glad it’s not me.” She didn’t need to tell him that she meant _I’m glad it’s not me who is set to marry you._ “Agreed.” She knew his preferences since way back. Considering they had been together all the time when they were young, learning how to dance from Nozel’s grandmother together and getting paired up with each other by her, Charlotte had been part of his self-discovery period as much as he had been during hers. She knew fully well that he’d rather not marry _any_ woman, that he’d rather get into bed with strange men. Neither of them could really understand each other’s preferences, even though he was homosexual and she was bisexual. “Your father is here.”

Charlotte’s voice snapped him out of his thoughts, and though he didn’t let it show, he could feel his shoulders tense and his headache return. His neck ached, too. Nozel rose from the chaise lounge and offered her a hand up when his father turned his attention toward them, and he felt her clasp his hand in a brief moment of solidarity before she let go. Charlotte wasn’t all that fond of Nozel’s father either. She dipped into a curtsy — as short and shallow as she could get away with because even if she had not disliked Ermes, she generally disliked men and hated deferring to them — when Ermes Silva reached them. There was ice and steel in his father’s gaze, and Nozel felt his throat tighten. Every _A Silva does not—_ that he had ever been told started to pass through his mind in a dizzying blur. He felt sick. He glimpsed Noelle talking to the son of one of Gabriele and father’s business partners. He felt even worse. He realized that he had almost croaked out _I want to drown myself in the fountain,_ but thankfully he managed to stop himself. He shouldn’t, and he didn’t really mean it, but sometimes he wished that things had gone way worse when that car hit him. But he could fake a conversation with his father. Better so with his fellow liar Charlotte standing beside him, part of her skirt sometimes brushing against his leg. Talking to his father was torture, but at least his father couldn’t question him as sharply with Charlotte there, or in front of other people. _A Silva does not cause a scene._

Supper was a relief, and he didn’t have to deal with overly much chatter since Dorothy was sitting on one side of him. On the other hand, Noelle had ended up on his other side. He ignored her best he could, and he was occupied repeatedly glaring at Solid, sitting opposite them, to make his brother keep in line. Why couldn’t he simply ignore Noelle as well? Why couldn’t he mind his manners? It must be nice, not being the oldest and facing the bulk of the pressure at any given moment. He didn’t have an appetite but forced himself to eat either way. _A Silva does not leave food on their plate._

He had to keep Nebra and Solid from making a scene by keeping them away from Noelle, not that he minded staying away from her. Solid was partially kept in line by Charlotte as well, and as the night progressed, Nozel was increasingly grateful for her presence.

When he collapsed into bed that night, he stared blankly in front of him without really seeing anything, too exhausted to fall asleep. He needed to, he needed to get out of this suit, needed to take a shower, needed to take his meds and hide them in case his father decided to drop by, needed to brush his teeth, needed to go to sleep so he had any energy to confront father again in the morning.

It was an extreme effort to push back out of the bed and get his toiletry bag, his body protested against moving and his mind was mushy. In an attempt to clear his head a little, he found the remote to the flatscreen and zapped through the channels. He came across the end of the Eurovision semis and let it play on a low volume in the background. There were fancy glasses lined up in the bathroom, and he filled one to the brim before zipping open the toiletry bag to get his dosette box. He thought he might skip the shower. He didn’t have the energy for it.

The glass shattered when it hit the marble floor. Glass shards and water washed across the floor and he would probably be thankful that he was still wearing shoes later. The dosette landed in the mess. “Father.” He hated how his voice shivered a little. _A Silva does not show weakness._

His father turned his gaze down toward the mess on the floor, locking onto the dosette. He bent down and picked it up. It dripped of water. Father took a towel off the marble sink and slowly wiped it dry. Nozel wanted to throw up. “You’re still doing this? Have I not told you that Silvas don’t do drugs?”

“It’s not— It’s medicine.” But it was useless to explain.

_A Silva does not need medication._

_A Silva is never mentally deranged._

“People will believe you’re a psycho.” He had heard that from his father before, but it still hurt all the same. He hated that word. Father turned the box over in his hand, ensuring it was dry. Then he slid it into a pocket of his suit, and Nozel felt his heart drop. He wanted to cry. That was the only meds he brought with him. “Take a shower and go to bed.” He glanced behind him toward the TV. “Don’t waste your time on such useless things.”

Why father had showed up at all, and how he had gotten inside the room when Nozel knew that he had locked the door (had he though, a little voice at the back of his head nagged at him, feeding off of and into his current miserable state of mind) but whatever his father might have wanted was never made clear. The discovery that Nozel still persisted in taking useless medicines to fix some perceived problem he simply needed to get over probably distracted him.

Nozel clutched to the cross, ignoring how it stretched and wrinkled the fabric of his shirt and how he couldn’t actually feel the pendant properly through it. He leaned against the wall to the shower, and slid down to the floor. He wanted to disappear forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   * I couldn’t find anything I felt felt right when looking for an English option for the Swedish “tillgjord” and “konstlad”. So I ended up with “exaggerated”. Man, English is difficult.
>   * Apparently [one way to tip your flight attendant is to leave the tip in an envelope in your seat when you disembark](https://www.huffingtonpost.com/2015/10/19/flight-attendant-secrets_n_5907632.html).
>   * I’ve mentioned this before but I know nothing about fashion. Anyway here’s Nozel’s [suit](https://www.pinterest.se/pin/820781100809260647//)! As for the braid, there are a bunch of lovely fishbone braids on google, and I’ll just leave it to your imagination.
>   * Gabriele Ansoit and Giulia Ansoit are Dorothy’s parents, while Ermes Silva is the Silva siblings’ father. Considering canon, I get a feeling that their father might not be a very nice person.
>   * I also know nothing about cars. I don’t even have a license, because I partially black out behind a wheel and feel like I’ll have a panic attack. I am not fit for roads. Still, aesthetically I can like them, and [this thing looks nice](https://www.jdclassics.com/Cars/For-Sale/1956-Porsche-356A-Speedster/d4add4ca-8d42-49d6-0db0-08d58fe9ce08).
>   * And [here is Charlotte’s dress](https://www.dhgate.com/product/sexy-backless-evening-dresses-wear-v-neck/409604063.html#s4-14-7b;searl%7C0725286659).
>   * And [the mentioned Eurovision semi](https://eurovisionworld.com/eurovision/2018/semi-final-2) running in the background.
>   * At a point of writing the first draft, me: so tired I had to look up what glass is in english. Typed “glass” in the dictionary even though “glass” in swedish is “glas”.....meanwhile “glass” means “ice cream”. I should’ve gone to sleep but I still was in the middle of laundry.
>   * Watching reruns of music shows while writing is such a distraction, by the way. So obviously I have to watch the other episodes of Allsång på Skansen that I’ve missed this year for more nostalgia and singalongs.
> 



	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   * Chapter 6 already! Mostly because I’ve written about three pages of chapter 7 today and chapter 6 has been resting since the first draft was finished, so I thought I should edit it to be acceptable to me.
>   * **CW: Mental health issues, mentions of mental abuse, and suicidal thoughts.**
>   * Additional warnings about Zora.
> 


It was several hours later — at least he thought it was several hours later because it felt like an eternity but it was still night — that he made his way through the mansion in search of Charlotte’s room. He couldn’t find his phone anywhere, so he needed to go there in person. She had mentioned that she was in the room she usually stayed in when she was visiting the Ansoit’s. Nozel thought something moved in the corner of his eye, but it was the middle of the night, and besides his own footsteps it was completely silent. He didn’t stop to look. It might only be a hallucination.

Nozel stood leaning against the door as he waited for Charlotte to answer it. Once she opened the door, she was glaring up a storm in her nightgown, and her hair was loose around her shoulders in a pillow-mussed mess. Had he been feeling more poetic, he might have thought that she looked like an avenging angel. Her expression changed when she saw him. “You look like hell rotted pig.”

He ignored the insult which might be disguising her concern. “Do you still have any of me— my meds?” His tongue stumbled on the words. He was so tired. She shook her head, and he turned. “Nozel, wait, what’s—” He heard her frustrated sigh but he didn’t register it properly, nor did he stop. The only one who might have had any medicines he could access at the moment was Charlotte, even if she would have had outdated ones of a sort he didn’t take any more since he had been given different prescriptions since then. He heard footsteps behind him and glimpsed her blonde hair angrily following him. She had followed him, and she forced herself into his room once he reached it. She stood in front of him, stopping him from going to the bed and collapsing into it and wish he was dead. Though he could and had done plenty of the last one before mustering the strength to go to her door. “What happened?”

His jaw locked around the words. “Fa—” When he unlocked his jaw, the words got stuck in his throat instead.

Charlotte had seen it too often. The people he had gotten to know in Austria, or his cousins, couldn’t entirely understand how bad it could get, when it came to his father. But Charlotte knew. She had been there. She had seen it first hand. They might not be as close as they once were, but she still knew better than anyone else. “What did he do this time?” She understood that it had something to do with his father. Because it was usually the case. His father constantly messed things up for Nozel, and only ever noticed the things that he wanted to notice, and then went and made everything worse.

“Took,” Nozel managed to press up and out of a tight throat. “Meds.” He didn’t see her gaze flick over to the bathroom, though he noticed when she moved toward it. Her bare feet were quiet on the plush carpet, and she stopped before she stepped across the threshold. She stood there for a few moments, back toward Nozel. Then she turned back, and walked over to him again. She scowled up at him. “Nozel.” She said sharply. He involuntarily flinched. She forced herself to not snap her words out again. “Go home. To Vienna.”

“You know I can’t.” His voice came out sounding as if he were being strangled. But at least he managed a sentence. Yet she insisted, “Go home,” and he didn’t have the energy to argue. He could argue with her, they had a history of making pointed comments at each other simply to pass the time and to vent when they weren’t on display in front of other people. There had been many rumours circulating, while they were paired up. Despite the rumours, they had never been romantically involved. Only strange friends and allies in a world filled with pressure. Strange because nobody would think that they were friends if they heard them talk to each other, when they were at the top of their insult game. “You’re going home? Good. I’ll help you pack this once so go wash your face. Do you have any other clothes? Then get changed as well, you look like a baglady. You need to have those clothes dry cleaned later. Now move.” She ushered him toward the bathroom, stopped him, and passed him to get rid of the glass shards as best she could, then she continued ushering him into the bathroom. She stopped only to make sure that he obediently washed his face as he was told. Water dripped everywhere. He could feel it underneath his collar, running down toward his navel. Most of the water was soaked up by his clothes when he pulled them off. She pointedly kept her back turned toward him as he changed in the bedroom, which he did only because he couldn’t take his shoes off in the bathroom, and he couldn’t change trousers unless he took off his shoes. The laces were a bigger challenge than they ought to be.

“I’ve booked you a plane ticket,” the always incredibly capable Charlotte informed him. “And called a taxi. I’ll tell the driver to make sure you get to the gate properly. Then you go straight home. I’ll try to call Kirsch— so even in this state you can make that face, whatever, I’m still calling him, because somebody needs to make sure you get home from the airport or at least check up on you in the morning. I don’t trust you when you’ve dealt with your father’s bad side, it’s gotten us both in trouble before. Make sure you don’t forget your bag in the taxi or on the plane. Is this all your things? Well, the maid will find out if there’s anything left. I’ll call one to clean up in the morning. And make sure you take your meds when you get home.” She ushered him downstairs and she ushered him into the taxi, and she got the taxi driver to help him find the right gate at the airport so he was ushered there as well. It was a good thing that he had a card from his orthopedist about his implants, because speaking did not get easier once it was time to pass security.

The only time he looked up during the plane ride, which he took in silence and blankly staring out the window for once, was during some sudden turbulence. He distantly heard some screams, faintly registered that the turbulence felt different from usual, and that there was a lot of it. He was pretty sure he heard somebody shout _We’re going to die_ because after he heard that, he thought, _that wouldn’t be so bad_. If he died, he wouldn’t have to deal with his father any more, he wouldn’t need to be so tired, he wouldn’t have to medicate to function, he wouldn’t have to deal with Noelle, or Solid, or Nebra, he wouldn’t have to feel sick and he wouldn’t have to fight panic.

Nozel wasn’t sure if he was the only one not panicking during the strange turbulence, though. Even through the distance he felt to the other passengers and the crew, things were loud. A lot of people had to be panicking. It wasn’t necessary though. If they crashed they crashed, and there was nothing more to it. Nozel returned his gaze to the window. For a moment, he thought he saw something reflected in the darkness of the night. A strange shape, too, darker than darkness. He blinked slowly, but it was gone. So was the turbulence.

He forgot his bag when he disembarked, and was stopped by a flight attendant who had caught up to him. He thanked her...him...them automatically. He didn’t register which one of them it was, he didn’t even look. He remembered that Charlotte had warned him not to forget his bag. What else had she said? Brush your teeth— no. He couldn’t remember. Maybe that was what she had said. Strange. But not impossible. That had been part of the ritual, way back.

There was a light drizzle when he stepped out through the closest door. It felt nice against his skin and dressed Vienna in darkness. Though maybe a heavy downpour would have been better. Maybe lightning would have been better. He could have found a meadow, or climbed up a high building, and hoped that the lightning would strike him down. Nozel headed in the general direction of home while his thoughts remained on the nonpresent lightning.

How long he had walked, he didn’t really know, but after some time he stopped at a street corner. Nozel leaned against the wall and tipped his head up toward the sky and the falling rain. It tried to burrow into his skin, and he thought that it just might. He didn’t mind if it did. He kept putting his crutch in holes in the street and sidewalk. He was exhausted.

A voice persisted. Eventually he tipped his head forward again. He thought he recognized the person, but he couldn’t grasp from where. He didn’t really get what the man was saying but he seemed concerned. Then Nozel remembered a door sign, a name on a mailbox. “Roulacase,” he mumbled, and the man nodded. “Yes, that’s me, hi, are you alright? What’re you doing all the way out here in the middle of the night and in pouring rain, did something happen? Did you get hurt?” Nozel grasped onto the most important bit of Roulacase’s words, and he glanced up again. Only now he noticed that the drizzle had intensified into a heavy downpour. “Only missing thunder,” he thought, and only realized he had said it out loud several heartbeats after Roulacase repeated, “Thunder?” He didn’t realize it until after he had said, “To get struck by,” and he was jolted with surprise when hands grasped his shoulders and Roulacase exclaimed, “Please don’t do that!”

Nozel stared at Roulacase, briefly shocked even through the numbness that had settled over him like a heavy blanket. He was unable to find any words to express his confusion with the man’s sudden passionate plea. But eventually he felt the shock trickle away and the numbness return. A car passed by in the dark, and the light caught in Roulacase’s eyes for a brief moment. _Oh, he’s a cat,_ was a bizarre thought that passed through Nozel’s mind. It felt natural, like it was an obvious fact. He felt strangely comforted by that thought. He didn’t dislike cats. They were not as unmanageable as dogs were. They didn’t suddenly jump you, or try to hump your leg, or grow to be the size of a horse, or drag you around by a leash. Roulacase was saying something again, but Nozel didn’t really care. He was starting to feel the cold, now that he had actually realized that he had stopped moving and that it was raining heavily. Now that he was looking at something pretty— something that looked pretty warm and dry. He leaned forward, and buried his face in the crook of the other man’s neck. He really was warm. He felt the squeak of surprise against his nose, and he felt the other words that followed, but he didn’t really hear them. He felt the warmth of his skin and felt a comforting scent that he couldn’t place in his nose.

Only suddenly, he swayed, and he felt himself being dragged forward.

He must have fallen asleep still clutching to the other man as if he were a life buoy in the middle of the raging ocean Nozel had been swept into, because the next thing he knew was a warm bed and a comforting, uncomfortable mattress, and voices through mist. Briefly, he thought he was wrapped into a comfortable cocoon of warm darkness, but that didn’t seem important to explore. Though, the voices didn’t seem that important either. He just wanted to feel safe for a little while.

* * *

He was still worried. The man had slept for over a day and Finral was really worried. He also wondered where the man had learned his surname, since they never introduced themselves properly, but he was most of all worried. “Should I take him to the hospital?” he wondered, and Zora growled something that was likely supposed to be words into his sandwich of donuts, ham, and plum jam.

It was the mid-morning of the 12th, and it was the so-early-it-couldn’t-really-be-called-morning-yet morning on the 11th that Finral had run into the beautiful porcelain dancer man...which was a weird thing to call him but he didn’t know his name. “Have you checked his wallet yet?” Zora said once his words were actually somewhat understandable. Finral shook his head fervently. “I can’t do that!” he hissed at his friend. “That’s beyond rude!”

“But the hospital’s gonna need to know what he’s called if you take ‘im there anyway. And he might have an address in it. You can just open up a portal and bam,” Zora spread his sticky hands to emphasize, “you don’t have to deal with this shit any more.” Finral shook his head again. “There’s no way I can do that.”

“Okay, sure, you’re a fucking pain in the ass, Lófaszt.” Zora finished his so-called sandwich and pushed away from the table. After washing his hands clean of jam and sugar, he walked straight over to the foot of the bed and picked up the man’s bag. “Zora!”

Zora mostly ignored the reprimanding and somewhat panicky tone in Finral’s voice. “You’re a moron and you should’ve checked for his ID when you dragged his ass here.”

“No- well- no- _maybe_ , but still!”

“Found his passport. Seems he’s been out the country. Oh, he’s Italian, look.” Finral squeezed his eyes shut when Zora waved the passport in his face. “You’re pathetic. His name’s Nozel by the way, that’s a funny name, never heard it before, his parents gotta be hippies.” He dropped the passport on the table.

“Do you hate giving other people any sense of privacy that much?” Zora laughed at Finral’s question. “Pretty much. Ah, here’s his wallet. Man he’s got a lot of cards. I’ve never seen one of these- he’s got a ton of cash too. Fuck he’s gotta be rich like hell. _Hah._ A rich hippie.”

“Are you done yet? You don’t have to do that.” Finral grumbled, but he knew it was useless to try to stop Zora. He would get bored eventually, at least. “No address here,” Zora stated, making it clear to Finral that he wasn’t listening to a word he was saying. Or at least that he didn’t care about any of the words he was saying. Zora dropped the wallet to the table beside the passport and continued rummaging through the contents of the bag. He also continued to completely ignore Finral telling him to cut it out.

The sound of movement made Finral look away from Zora, and instead turn his attention toward the bed. The porcelain dancer— Herr Nozel— should it be Signore Nozel since he was Italian according to Zora?— Herr-Signore Nozel had until then been sleeping without a single movement. He had done so for the whole duration of his slumber, if one didn’t count the moment his grip on Finral’s clothes loosened, allowing Finral to slip out of his hold. As a result, Finral had finally been able to get him out of his wet clothes and into something dry, though Finral’s clothes looked awkward on him. Finral had thanked the gods for his magic, making it possible for him to much more easily change the man’s clothes without looking or disrupting him much. The damaged ankle he had discovered had made it increasingly difficult, however, but not impossible to manage.

Nozel had been sleeping motionlessly, almost like a dead man, for hour upon hour, only unsettling Finral further and making him all the more worried. He was only human, humans couldn’t sleep for days and survive without outside interference. They needed food replacements and stuff.

And now he was sitting upright in the bed, eyes open and looking straight ahead. His face was completely void of any emotions. “Um- Good morning,” Finral stuttered out. Zora twisted to look at the man in the bed. The man in the bed eventually turned his head and his gaze toward them. “Good morning,” he replied after several long moments. The words sounded hollow and rehearsed. Finral knew that he did the same at times. Said things in response simply because they were part of a deeply ingrained autopilot system. His failed a lot, but it managed to make things at least passable just as often. “Are you okay?” Finral asked, even though the man looked far from okay. He didn’t get any answer. “Do you want anything to eat?” At least that question was met with some form of response, even though it was a simple shake of the head. “What about water? Or juice? I have some apple juice.” Maybe he should have kept that to a yes or no question. He gave no answer.

“The guy’s loony,” Zora commented. Finral kicked Zora in the ankle, because he couldn’t drop him in the alps or a pond with a witness. Zora winced but didn’t seem to be in any actual pain. Bare feet were useless. He should grow claws and scratch him. Finral glared at him. “Don’t use that word. Why do you use that word?” He hated those sort of stigmatizing, derogatory words, they only made things worse all the time. And he had been called things like loony enough times for him to want to break something whenever he heard it. Zora ignored him, waving off his concern. “I guess I use it because I’m a loony too.” He just couldn’t help it, could he? Insulting was Zora’s default setting. Even if insulting himself was much less common than him insulting others. Why was all of Finral’s friends such menaces. He cared lots about them but they were still menaces.

It took a while, but eventually they at least managed to get some fluid into Nozel and find out his address. He actually lived at Sans Souci? And _full-time?_ Okay, he could agree with Zora; it seemed like the guy was ridiculously rich. Though honestly so was Finral’s family so it wasn’t like he had not met rich people before, even though he had left his family years back and barely exchanged even a dozen words a year with them these days. Since Finral had never been to Sans Souci, he couldn’t open a gate to the place. But somehow they managed to get the man to the hotel, and somehow even managed to get past the front desk and to the elevators. It was a wonder, to be honest. They had to look incredibly suspicious. But they did manage to find and get into Nozel’s hotel room. Rooms. It looked, as Zora put it, _fucking crazy expensive._

There was a man in one of the rooms. A man with red hair several shades lighter than Zora’s, and he looked furious and worried at the same time. “Nozel! Where have you been! We have been worried sick! We have been looking all over for you, my coach will kill me for skipping practice for two days! You were supposed to meet me at the airport! Even Charlotte is here looking for you! Do you know how terrifying she is when she’s actually worried about someone? She almost gutted me over the phone when I called her and told her I couldn’t find you! Where have you been!?” The man had stormed toward them, possibly with such a tunnel vision that he didn’t even realize Finral and Zora was there. But when he reached out to grab Nozel by the shoulders, looking like he was about to shake him, Finral pulled Nozel back. It wasn’t that he felt protective, it was just that the guy was clearly unwell right now and shouldn’t be shaken. He didn’t have to be shouted at, either. Nozel had still only barely managed to get out a few words at a time, and not easily. “Um, sorry, it’s my fault,” Finral tried to explain while appeasing the angry ginger. “I ran into him near the rail museum and since I didn’t know where he lived I let him sleep at my place....He woke up only a couple hours ago and couldn’t give his address before-um, you’re very close.”

The man had leaned in close to Finral’s face, partially across Nozel’s shoulder, and he was scowling at him. Finral stayed where he stood though he wanted to step back and get the man out of his personal bubble. The man straightened back up with a sigh that spoke volumes of depreciation, which hurt but wasn’t something Finral wasn’t used to, and turned to scrutinize Zora instead. “You look like a criminal. How unsightly.”

“And you look like a flamingo fucked a peacock in a basin filled with glitter and shit. Which’s way worse than looking like a criminal. ”

Finral wanted to bury his face in his hands and groan but since his hands were occupied, he only managed to groan. “Not right now, please. I just want to make sure Herr Nozel is safely home and might get better, do you know what to do?”

The man snapped his gaze toward Finral again. “His bed is in there,” he said and motioned with flair toward an arched doorway. He turned and headed into the room he had just gestured toward, and Finral and Zora exchanged peeved looks before following. 

“So if you’re looking _all over the place_ , why’re you _here_?” Zora asked the stranger. The stranger pushed a glass of water into Nozel’s hand. He dropped some pills into his other hand. “Somebody had to do the important job of waiting here in case he returned home while we were out looking.” The stranger huffed and flipped his hair with one of his newly freed hands. “Nozel, take your medicine.” Nozel stared blankly down at the pills in his hand in silence.

“So basically, you’re fucking useless so you’re grounded.” Did Zora have to do that in the current situation? Ah, of course he did. Why did Finral even feel compelled to wonder at all?

The man looked incredibly insulted. “The gall!” he exclaimed. “I will have you know that I looked all over yesterday, while Charlotte waited here! Do not insult my abilities, metal man!”

Zora leered at the stranger, and Finral decided that he wasn’t even going to try to get involved, and instead focused on Nozel and trying to get him to take the medications that he apparently needed. “Metal man? Wow, your lack of imagination is almost fucking cute, Peacock.”

“And you claim you have any imagination? You simply repeated part of your previous insult.” Zora’s expression widened, and Finral could glimpse him leaning in close to the extravagantly dressed man’s face. “If you prefer _Flaming Cock_ as nickname instead, that’s fine by me.” The sudden English mixed into the German made the stranger sputter. Though it was definitely because of the meaning of the words, not the actual language switch. “I beg your pardon!?” Finral groaned quietly, “Oh God,” he mumbled to himself. Why was Zora like this? He was making an absolutely terrible first impression. And because Finral was friends with him, it meant that he was giving a terrible first impression as well, thanks to him. Though, honestly, Finral was aware that he was pretty good at bad first impressions all on his own as well. He put the empty glass down on the bedside table and helped Nozel get into bed.

And the man wasn’t letting go again. Why did he continuously cling to him like this? “You need to let me go, you know,” he tried to convince him. The man did not listen. What had he done to warrant such attention? Starting from the rain-soaked street on the eleventh. Maybe starting from the night at the bar on the third. He didn’t let go, but he did suddenly speak. “Kirsch,” he said, and his voice was fairly quiet. Despite that, the ginger apparently heard him because he broke away from his continued argument with Zora with way too much flare. Had he had the ability to, he would surely have sparkled. “You called my name, cousin? Goodness, you feel remorse for making me worry, after all what if I had gotten wrinkles. I will certainly age remarkably well but it is yet too early for that.” _Goodness,_ Finral thought, _This guy is somehow amazing._ Not really in a good way. There really were people like this. He knew that terrible narcissists existed, he had met some, he had relatives who were narcissists, but this felt sort of extreme. Being shown concern in this way... Finral wouldn’t like that, and he wondered how many people would. In the background, Zora was making gagging noises.

“Leave.” Somehow, Nozel’s voice was almost stable. Maybe it was one of those words that had a cue button on the autopilot panel. The stranger named Kirsch sputtered in dismay. “W-what! After I am showing you this concern- And you have _just_ returned! As your beloved and loving cousin, it is my duty to see so that you recuperate properly!”

“Leave.” Nozel’s voice sounded exactly the same as the previous time, as if it had simply been replayed. Cue button, then. Kirsch sputtered some more. “Well I never! You, Tin Man and the plain one, I will show you out!”

The plain one.. Well, Finral really was used to being seen as plain. He didn’t particularly stand out. Even less so among his pretty remarkable group of friends. Those guys were a circus and attracted attention as a rule. “Ah... Sure...” He made to untangle himself from the other man, but Nozel still had an iron grip on him. _Again? ....He really is pretty strong._ And Finral didn’t want to accidentally hurt him by using too much of his own strength. “Um. You have to let go, Herr Nozel..”

One hand patted at Finral’s side briefly, then buried in his shirt again. A face buried against his shoulder. It was a bit of a deja vu, back to just a little over a week ago when this same guy was drunk off his ass and slurring a bit while refusing to let go of him. Adorable in its own way, but also a cause for concern. He didn’t want to leave the guy alone like that, so he had brought him home, and tucked him into his bed even as the guy mumbled incoherent Italian and even more incoherent German. What words Finral had managed to catch then had been fairly suggestive, but there was no way he was having sex with a drunk person, no matter how handsome or handsy they were.

This time the situation was different, but it was still strangely similar, a little. “Y’stay,” Nozel mumbled into Finral’s shirt. “Yo’re pretty,” the pause that he made to collect himself made his first couple words sound very strange, particularly because nobody called Finral pretty and Nozel had already called him plain, but when he added, “pretty warm,” it made much more sense. It was true that Finral had a high body temperature, that wasn’t weird, considering. “But, um, that’s, um...” With pleading eyes, he looked up at both Zora and the stranger- Kirsch.

“Help,” he squeaked out. Zora shrugged and he had already started to back away. “You’re on your own, man.” Kirsch looked more hesitant. “Hey Pheasant Cock, it’ll be fine. Finral is a wimp but he’ll make sure your loving and beloved cousin stays safe.”

“I’ll have you know!” Kirsch whipped around and stalked after Zora, abandoning his cousin in a stranger’s care far too easily, which Finral thought extremely irresponsible. Not that he would try anything even if his life depended on it, but still! “I am the loving and beloved cousin. Nozel is quite sour!”

“Sour!” Finral could hear Zora scoff as he heard the door open. “You make it sound like he’s a fucking unripe winter apple.”

The door shut on Kirsch’s reply, and Finral was alone with a possibly clinically depressed guy he’d only met a few times before stuck to his side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   * Google Maps claims that walking from the Vienna Airport to Sans Souci takes a bit over four hours. So it’s nothing I would recommend anyone tries to do just like that.
>   * Zora gives me the feeling that he’d like to make weird combinations of food to eat in front of others just to see them get weirded out, and then accidentally actually liking some of them.
>   * _Lófaszt_ = Hungarian: _Horsedick_.
>   * Kirsch can’t keep himself out of even a concerned lecture.
>   * The mentioned rail museum is Eisenbahnmuseum Schwechat.
>   * _Flaming_ from _flamingo_ and _cock_ from _peacock_.
> 



	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a bit shorter than the most recent three, but it’s longer than the first three.

Finral had the tv on at a very low volume. He was honestly not very big on watching tv, he was always way too busy with volunteer work at the shelter and his work at the bar and for Herr Yami in general. But it was nice to spend some time on it now and then. And he didn’t really want to be stuck with only his thoughts for company. The tv was an adequate enough distraction.

It would have been much more difficult to deal with the situation of having another guy attached to himself if it weren’t for his magic, but he could thankfully survive all the way into Monday morning when Nozel finally relaxed his grip and awoke more than just enough to be coaxed into drinking some water and taking his medicines.

And accidentally rolled out of the bed.

Finral was mostly asleep when it happened, and he was unable to catch him or use a gate to drop him back into the bed before he hit the floor. Using magic in front of people who didn’t know was a big risk and he had already risked it far too many times.

Nozel sat up with a groan, rubbing his shoulder, which at least was better than rubbing his head since it indicated that he had not hit it when he fell. When he spotted Finral, he looked utterly bewildered. Gods he was cute. The expression only made it worse, and his pale mussed up hair, curly from sleep and not being combed after getting out of the rain, were not exactly helping.

“You’re... why...?”

The question was uttered by a raw voice, worn by hurt. It was an achingly familiar tone, reminding Finral of when he only recently had fled his family. He felt like one never could truly escape family as long as they lived, but at some points in life, it was worse than other.

“You were, um, you were walking home from the airport and we met and I let you stay at my place since I didn’t know where you lived and then when you told me I brought you here? Your cousin, Kirsch, he made sure that you were properly given your medication and-” Finral cut himself off when he saw Nozel flinch. Several moments of total silence passed, until Finral finally asked, “What happened...? You were really, really bad off and I, it worried me, and um, I know we don’t really know each other but if I can help in any way I want to..”

Nozel stared at him with even wider eyes. Maybe Finral shouldn’t have asked- or maybe he should at least have waited a while. It was too late for him to take back his words now though. Nozel leaned against the bed, eyes closing and some creases forming between his eyebrows. When he opened his eyes again he seemed to try to cover up his emotions, and it left a dull look in his eyes. “Did we have sex?” Finral was the one with blinking, wide eyes at that question. “No! I wouldn’t- that would be taking advantage- I don’t do that.” It was as if Finral had said something outrageous. The look he was given made him uncomfortable, but he didn’t let his gaze waver. “Peculiar man,” Nozel muttered, and he pulled himself up into the bed, sitting with his damaged leg over the edge. “Why are you in my bed right now, then?”

Finral blinked, he scratched at his scalp through his bangs, and continued to blink for a few more moments. He had forgotten, then? He seemed to have forgotten that he had clocked out in Finral’s apartment twice, too. Well, he supposed he hadn’t been in any good state either time, so it wasn’t a wonder that he’d forgotten. “You, well it’s, slept at my place until you told me where you live, and you wouldn’t let me go home, so... Well... Yeah.. That... I couldn’t really leave. Do you lift weights or something?”

One elegant eyebrow arched and with what a mess Nozel looked at the moment, that was extremely attractive, despite the shadows under his eyes. Though, he had that extremely attractive face and eyebrow arch anyway, the sleep-ruffled look he was working was only making it stand out differently. He rubbed a hand over his face. “No..? I prefer walking when possible, otherwise I don’t particularly work out. Why do you ask?” Finral laughed awkwardly. He scooted to the side on the bed, away from the other man and toward the edge on the opposite side. “It’s just, you have a really strong grip so I was wondering if you do anything in particular to get that strong...”

Nozel looked down at his lap where his hands rested. He opened and closed one of his hands, seemingly deep in thought. He had slender pianist fingers, and when Finral actually looked, he noticed that he had calloused fingertips, particularly on his right hand; that his skin was marked in places; that his nails were very short. So... not pianist fingers specifically, then. He recognized those type of markings. “No,” Nozel said eventually. “I play the violin, that’s all. I suppose it does affect my grip otherwise as well.” So he did play the violin, just like Herr William did. No wonder his hands looked familiar in that sense. “What day is it?”

That was not a difficult question to answer, at least. “Monday. It’s still morning, don’t know the exact time.” Or so he thought, but Nozel’s face paled a little. And he had regained so much of his color while he warmed up and rested.. “Where’s my phone?”

Finral swallowed nervously and glanced away. “Ah you see.... Your cousin confiscated it yesterday when he came by to make sure you took your medication...” He saw Nozel flinch again. Was it because of the word _medication_? He had flinched last time Finral said it as well. Did he not like taking them? He had taken them without protest before. But he had been more or less shut off then, and that could make a large difference. Or was it something else? “So it’s not, here,” he finished.

“I see. Kirsch certainly does love to meddle in matters that does not concern him. What about your phone?”

“In my pocket--um, what are you, doing?” Nozel seemed entirely unfazed by the proximity. He had dragged himself further into the bed and closer to Finral, and was patting him down wherever he saw pockets. “I need to borrow it. Tell me why you’re in my bed.”

Nozel may not be the slightest bothered with touching Finral, but Finral’s face was turning red. “Ah, you have freckles,” Nozel pointed out. He was staring him right in his eyes and his hands had paused. He had somehow gotten Finral’s phone out of the pocket it was in but he wasn’t instantly using it. He was so close. He was practically sitting in his lap, awkwardly because of his leg. “Y-yeah, I know that.. It’s going toward summer so I’ll get some...” He didn’t get a huge amount, but he got more if he was out in the summer sun a lot. “Uh you said, I was prett-pretty warm, and refused to let me go.” Nozel hummed. “I see, it’s true, you’re pretty hot.” Finral’s face flushed even worse, even though he knew that Nozel meant that he had a high body temperature, not that he looked really good. Nozel turned his attention to Finral’s phone. “This is eons old, are you an old man?”

“Eh-- It’s not that old,” Finral protested. It was true that Finral hadn’t gotten a new phone in years but so what? It was durable and that was pretty important, considering the friends he had and how often he dropped it or somebody threw it at somebody else if he didn’t keep it close. Not to mention that Charmy had accidentally tried to eat it on several occasions and it needed to be able to withstand teeth. She had a decent amount of jaw strength and had broken Magna’s phone once, after he switched to a new one. You had to take those sort of things like strange friends and magic into consideration when choosing phones. “It’s heavy too. Like a brick. Can you unlock it?” Finral puffed up his cheeks and said nothing, taking the phone and typing in the pin code to unlock it. “It doesn’t even have a color display. This thing is so old. Who even has phones like this anymore? I thought they stopped selling them a century ago.”

“Sorry for being an old man and not using a breakable little smart phone, geez!” Nozel chuckled. His smirk was the most beautiful smirk that Finral had ever seen in his whole life. Seriously! He was too cute! No- bothersome! But also cute! Nozel pressed the phone to his ear. He was still chuckling. Gods damn it! “You should be sorry, this has to be a last century model at the very least least. Ah- Kirsch.” He started speaking in rapidfire Italian, so fast that it was impossible for Finral to keep up. He did know Italian to some degree, but he was out of practice and he couldn’t have understood it that quickly spoken back when he had been in top form. Nozel’s voice and face took on a variety of emotions, it was amazing. Why was one of his hands on Finral’s knee? Oh Gods, it was almost too much.

Nozel spoke for several long minutes, closer to half an hour than a quarter of it, and it seemed like he didn’t let Kirsch get in many words. Once he finished the call he handed the phone back to Finral. Nozel’s mood had fallen and the laughter had, in the end, only made a brief appearance. “My cousin is coming over and he’s bringing some friends, you can leave.” Finral was dismissed so easily. “Ah, okay, uh...” He wanted to ask for his number. He didn’t have the guts to. Finral carefully untangled himself from the other man. He clutched his phone in his hand uncertainly.

“Hey.” The voice made Finral turn his gaze to meet Nozel’s. “Thanks.” Slowly, Finral nodded. “No, no problem.” He made his parting greetings and as soon as he was out of the hotel building and in a secluded area, he opened a gate to his apartment and fled through it.

He was such a coward. He was a grown man and couldn’t bring himself to ask a guy for his phone number. They slept in the same bed, they had drinks together, and learning a bit about his mental health issues was probably a pretty big deal. And the guy was so handsome and cute and Finral was definitely attracted to him. _So why is it so hard to ask such a simple question?!_ Because he’d been burned before. He’d asked people he felt attracted to, or people he just wanted to be friends with, or thought he was friends with, for their contact information, and he’d had people laugh in his face.

So he quit.

He decided not to ask so easily, and that turned into never asking at all. How many chances had he let slip by just because he was such a huge coward, prone to running away every time instead of mustering up the courage to stay and fight? Even when it came to his family, he had chosen the coward’s way out and had ran as soon as he had the chance. They didn’t even try to persuade him to come back home. Aah, he sure was loved. He wanted to cry.

But that wasn’t important, he wasn’t a priority. In the end he didn’t want to make the guy uncomfortable, and there was such a thing as timing. Finral tried to explain to himself why he didn’t just ask for his number, even though he knew that in the end it boiled down to his cowardice no matter what the rest of the reasons were. Though it was true that the timing this time was pretty bad.

Finral went to his closet to find a t-shirt and trousers to iron, so he wasn’t wearing something covered in wrinkles when he went to the bar. He showered, blew-dried his hair and only put a little effort into its styling, and he decided to use a gate to get to the bar even though he preferred to use his gates as little as possible.

When he arrived in the back room, Herr Yami and Herr William were both there. At least they were not loudly having sex, which always would cause a certain amount of trouble as they could be heard into the bar — Finral made a mental note to look into sound proofing the room. Instead, Yami was rubbing lotion into the upper half of William’s face, making sure that every little bit of the scar across his skin was properly treated. It really was a terrible scar, but Finral was used to seeing it. William still hated when people saw it and it was no wonder why, but he wasn’t really affected when Finral saw it, either. Not any more. William leaned into the ear nibbles Yami was giving him. Finral’s gaze was drawn toward the man’s hands without his intention.

“Welcome back,” he was greeted by William’s soft voice. Finral tore his gaze from his hands, and up toward his face. The scars must hurt something terribly, even though they were old. “How is your friend feeling?”

Finral didn’t point out that they weren’t friends. He wanted to be, but he didn’t dare ask. He wanted to maybe try to be more than friends, but he was a coward. “He’s...better, at least.” He remembered the sorry state Nozel had been in, he remembered the empty voice, he remembered the terrifying words, he remembered the grip of somebody drowning, he remembered the chuckle, he remembered the mixture of emotions washing across his face as he spewed out Italian like he had been personally affronted and was hurting. Finral wanted to go back. He wanted to open a gate and he wanted to go back. But of course he wouldn’t. “Sorry for being absent, how’s things been going?”

“Eh, same old.” Yami turned William’s head in his hands and started rubbing lotion to the scar tissue on his ear. “Zora swears like hell, Charmy eats like she’s gonna croak otherwise, Luck throws things at Magna to rile him up, customers laugh at the fucking morons, all that other shit. It’s all peachy as all fucking shit.” And Yami kept telling Zora and Magna not to swear. Yami was a hypocrite. But he was the hypocrite that had taken Finral in after he ran from his family, and he wasn’t a bad person. He was the person Finral would forever be indebted to, because without Yami, who knew where Finral would have been right now. Probably dead in a ditch somewhere since long ago. William let out a happy little mewl when Yami put his full attention to his skin with his lips, and Finral decided that he was excused. He made sure to tightly close the door behind him as he left the room. They would really need to soundproof that room.

“Valley?” he asked Zora instead of using a proper greeting as he stepped out behind the bar disk. _Valley_ was a term they used for when it was calm in between stuffed times. The stuffed times were _mountains_ and the term _froth_ was used when the already drunk people rolled in. It was a reference to ocean waves, and Herr Yami’s past as a fisherman back in Japan ages ago. It really was pretty dead in the bar at the moment. “Fucking boring,” Zora confirmed. “You finally escaped the clutches of that pretty blond that dumped you, huh.” Finral sputtered. “He didn’t dump me! Also how do you even know it’s the same guy?”

“Your stupid face told me.” Zora picked up a cloth and wiped down the disk. He tossed another rag at Finral and Finral walked around the disk to remove a few empty plates left behind by a few businessmen who just left. He wiped the table clean and brought the tray around. “My face doesn’t tell you anything.”

“Yeah it does.” Zora shrugged at the scowl Finral aimed at him. “You got this look on your face, when you pine for someone. It’s fucking obvious and seriously fucking pathetic. Bet you ain’t gonna do anything about it this time either.”

Finral had moved on to wipe down the tray after moving the plates and glasses on top of each other, and he hit the plastic restlessly. Zora’s gaze upon him made him feel guilty, though he didn’t really have to feel guilty toward anyone but himself, over his own pathetic cowardice. He didn’t meet Zora’s gaze. “...yeah. That wouldn’t be a bet.” He knew what he was like, it wasn’t like he would change that easily after so many years of being unable to change. Just because you want something it doesn’t mean it’ll work out.

Zora huffed and sighed, and Finral cleared another table and fled from Zora’s tongue lashings into the kitchen with the dirty dishes. 

“Oooh, eggs,” was his greeting as he nudged past the door, and he looked over at Charmy, who was on a stool, standing at the counter. “Is not my name,” he pointed out. “Give me a sec.” Finral put aside the dishes by the sink. “Butter, la~” Charmy replied. Honestly, the people attached to this bar... Finral stepped over to the fridge to fetch the requested eggs and butter. “How many eggs?” He grasped the door handle, and as the young woman replied, “seven,” Finral’s hand bumped into the door to the freezer as he pulled open the fridge and it slid on its hinges with no resistance. “Charmy, you didn’t close the freezer properly again.”

“Eeeh, I didn’t? Oops.” How many times... Did they have to install some sort of auto-shut mechanism on the door? He took out the right amounts of eggs and the butter, and he pulled open the freezer door as he made sure to properly close the fridge door as tightly as he could. There didn’t seem to be any damage to the groceries, but ice was coating the insides of the freezer. That would be fun to deal with. “Can you just start remembering to make sure you close it properly?” Charmy laughed half-apologetically. Zora stuck his head in past the door as Finral was about to reprimand her some more or at least try to even though he knew that it wouldn’t make a difference, and called Finral out of the kitchen. A mountain had hit the bar, and it was time to get busy.

The mountain lasted for hours, was mixed with some froth in the late hours, and when they eventually closed up shop in the early morning, Finral was exhausted. But, somebody needed to take care of all the ice that had built up in the freezer, and he didn’t want to go home to hang out with his thoughts a sleepless morning. “I’ll deal with it,” he volunteered when the state of the freezer was brought up after closing. “Oh good,” Yami was taking a cigarette out of its packet and he looked over at Finral. “I was gonna tell you to do it anyway.” Finral sighed. “That’s what I thought. Zora, are you staying at my place tonight?” Zora grunted out a no as he finished wiping down the counter one last time. “Got somewhere else’n mind,” he said. “Gotta go. See you later, asswipes.” Yami scoffed, and he stopped in the door to the back, lighting up his cigarette. “Have fun, surpass your limits, don’t pass out, lock up properly,” he said. He closed the door behind him, headed for his home, his dogs, and his boyfriend, leaving Finral alone in the empty bar.

The groceries went to a suitably temperatured area of the Alps. He had to make sure that nobody was there and that it wasn’t too close to the area where he had grown up, so that nobody would investigate the trace of his magic. Which meant he stepped out on the craggy rock, high up the ocean surface, and he looked down upon the mountains, hills, roads, villages, towns, spreading out far beneath him. He didn’t go to the Alps very often, particularly not the ones in Liechtenstein. Because it was where he had grown up. It was still painfully beautiful. It made him remember things that he didn’t want to remember. He turned to fervently scrubbing every little bit of the bar until it was pristine clean. He let the radio play until the news mentioned the explosion at the Silver Eagle, and he shut it off so fast that he broke the radio. He stopped, staring out one of the windows toward what was left of the other bar. At this hour, it was abandoned, scorched with deep marks cutting through the stone.

Finral swallowed down his guilt, and wished that he wasn’t such an extreme coward who could do nothing that he really wanted to do, if it involved any form of confrontation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   * A quore question and answer about [violinists’ hands](https://www.quora.com/What-do-long-time-violinists-hands-look-like). I... _think_ Nozel might be left handed? His grimoire is on his left hip and he’s been holding things with his left hand. But I could be very wrong, and it’s not like I’m any good at left and right in the first place. I have to think long and hard about it and then get it wrong a lot of the time.
>   * Ah, I remember those old Nokia and Ericson phones, my mom used to have one for forever, until she finally switched up a couple years back. We always thought that dad had bought new ones all the time because he bought new shells. I’m wondering now if he did it on purpose. He complains about the rest of us sitting with our noses in our phones but he’s the worst culprit in the entire family, and my sister plays a tone of games on hers. I don’t even know what he does on there.
> 



	8. Chapter 8

May 31st was the warmest day of the month of May. It had left Nozel sticky and tired in the morning when he first woke up, and he had been hesitant to even get up at all, dreading going outside where it was even hotter. His duvet cover had been lying in a crumpled heap on one side of the bed, while Nozel had been lying on the opposite side, close to the open window. The sun was warm against his skin and it was bright. Eventually he had rolled out of bed and was glad that he didn’t really need his crutch anymore unless he walked long distances, because he didn’t particularly like bringing it into the shower with him.

After showering and drying his hair, he pulled it into a half-high tail that wouldn’t press against the back of his neck, and matched a white t-shirt with an eagle printed on it with light trousers that went past his ankles—despite the temperature but needs must—and put on a pair of sandals. He left the hotel for a regular appointment with his chiropractor, and then had a meeting with his manager. The last recording session had wrapped the day before, and there was supposed to be a promotion shoot in a few weeks, and on top of that he had been requested to participate in a track by some Austrian hard rock band’s that he had never heard of before. That was bound to be an interesting experience. Nonna and Padre would hate it for sure. Which made him look forward to doing it. He had some interviews booked in the upcoming month as well and though he was used to them, having had to deal with interviews and the media pretty much his whole life, he did not look forward to those. But it was mainly for the sake of promoting the cd, so he would hold his tongue on that front.

His relationship with his family back in Italy had become even more shaky than it had already been, thanks to his escape from the Ansoit mansion two weeks prior. He was informed, during his brunch with Kirsch and Mimosa—the girl being in Vienna to visit her brother for the holiday and to keep an eye on her brother before his upcoming performance—that his father seemed to be planning something, although they were not entirely certain what. And they couldn’t exactly ask. Kirsch had thankfully not told his little sister about what had happened that had run Nozel out of Italy the night between the 11th and the 12th, nor had he told her about how he had gone missing until the 14th. Those were things that were impossible to tell the fifteen year old girl. Mimosa was friends with Noelle, and if Mimosa found out, there was a large risk that Noelle would as well. It had already been a disaster without her knowing the details, and Nozel could still feel his father’s suspicion across the continent. He may have accepted the excuse Charlotte had made up, that Nozel had to deal with a work emergency, but it was doubtful that he had actually bought it. Padre was biding his time, he was sure of it. What repercussions his running away would have, he did not yet know, but he did not doubt that they would be bad. He should not have run, but Charlotte had probably been right in making him leave. Dealing with his father another day would have been a terrible disaster.

“Brother, stop playing with the tablecloth,” Mimosa reprimanded her brother. Kirsch only stopped fidgeting with the edge of the tablecloth for a few moments, but then he was back at it. Mimosa slapped the back of his hand. “He’s such a bother, I’m sorry that you have to deal with living in the same town as him, Nozel.”

“It is certainly pure agony, but it is hardly your fault.” Both Mimosa and Nozel ignored the appalled reaction from Kirsch. “Either way, I’ll survive. Kirsch, stop tugging at the tablecloth, it won’t help you in any way. How is your new trainer?”

“He’s very good. He’s really strict,” He doubted that, but didn’t point that out. “but I like learning under him. It’s one step closer to my dream.” He knew about that. Mimosa wanted to be a dancer at the Bolshoi Ballet one day. “As long as you don’t give up.” He didn’t say good luck. He didn’t say that he had given up. He couldn’t say that it was hypocritical to tell her to not give up. She didn’t know much about that. She didn’t know that he had been giving up on dancing even before he had been forced to quit. “It’s tiring but it makes me happy. Brother, stop it.” Nozel was jealous. The more time that passed after his mother's death, the harder it had become for him to continue dancing. It had become nothing but torture, in the end. He missed the time, years back, when it had actually brought him happiness.

“Can I talk now?”

Nozel and Mimosa glanced over at Kirsch, who looked frustrated with not talking. They had told him to be quiet for a bit, which was what had led Mimosa to apologize for him in the first place, but unsurprisingly his silence didn’t last for very long.

And once set off, Kirsch could talk for hours. Thankfully, Nozel only needed to deal with about an hour of Kirsch describing every intricate detail of the costume he was using next Friday, the hairstyles he was considering, the song, the program that he was using. He seemed to be focusing on the details even more than he usually did which was perhaps not particularly odd per se, but it was still something noteworthy; but Nozel had an appointment at the hospital to check his ankle and couldn’t ask at the time. He wasn’t even sure if it was anything that he was supposed to ask in front of Mimosa.

He had the afternoon free of plans, with no friends free to spend time with him. Kirsch was practicing at the rink, Mimosa was meeting a ballet instructor that was training her for the summer, Licht was packing to go to Greece this evening, and he would be gone for the whole month of June for some extended family reunion that they had every year. Nozel couldn’t understand loving family like that, but Licht did, even if he didn’t talk about them very often. But he had a large family, and they all cared for one another a great deal, somehow. Nozel had been invited to the reunion once, back when they were dating, but after he had given a long-winded rejection to that offer, Licht had not asked him again, which probably was for the better. Nozel would only be uncomfortable if he were to go.

So, with the afternoon all to himself, Nozel went to Schönbrunn Palace and its gardens. He wandered without having any particular goal in mind. He wasn’t sure what he was doing there, but he needed a breather, and he needed space. While there were other people at Schönbrunn, it was a beautiful locale and he enjoyed spending time there once in a while.

Father knew. That was a disaster. Things were bound to get worse. The question was how long Nozel had left until all hell broke loose. He didn’t want anything to do with the hellhole that his family’s home after the death of his mother had become, he didn’t want to be in the black hole he had fallen into after his accident.

Nozel settled in the Palm House, watching the tourists and the citizens of the town paying a visit to the greenhouse mill about. He would have liked to be just one of a thousand instead of one in a thousand. To not be his father’s child. His mother’s, always, but not his father’s. He wanted his father out of his life, wanted to be rid of his schemes and his ambition, and he wanted to just be a person allowed to live for himself. But that was impossible. His father would never allow that.

Before that car hit him, things hadn’t exactly been great. His mother had died a few years earlier, giving birth to his sister. Living in the same house as her had not made anything better, and hearing her cry at night, the only time he couldn’t escape the house to practice together with Charlotte, had made him sick to his stomach. And then she turned out to be entirely incompetent at everything she did, and it only made things worse to realize that she had stolen mother away for _nothing_. It had been torture, living under the same roof as the cause of the light in his life disappearing. That she looked more and more like her as the years went by only made everything so much worse.

His mother had been incredibly important to him. Nozel had at an early age understood where his relationship with his parents stood. His mother was still young when she had him, but she had not cared that she should have waited at least a few years before having a baby. She had not put her career on hold as she was pregnant, and she was quickly back at her feet after giving birth, forging the path of battle across the dance floor. Nozel admired her for it. He grew up watching her dance, and he loved it. It was probably the best years of his life.

His father was never really present for real, he was there except he wasn’t. He was mother’s dance partner, and they were as a result often together, but Padre was at the same time managing whatever businesses the Silva family was involved with and had a lot of opinions and family rules that he expected his son to know and follow by heart. Those rules didn’t make things easier.

Nozel had admired his mother, she was the one who made him actually want to dance, though he didn’t really have a choice because of his father. His father who he felt no admiration for. Why it was his mother who had had to die instead of his father... Nozel would never forgive God for allowing it to happen, and though he wore the cross around his neck at every hour of every day, he could not believe in his mother’s God. In the past he had, but not any more. Why couldn’t it have been Noelle instead? Or Nozel- he didn’t care, as long as mother would have been spared, he would have been fine with dying.

Nozel nibbled on dried apricots and watched a family on the opposite balcony. They looked genuinely happy, both the parents and the children, and he was jealous. His family had never been like that, not even once. If father had been out of the picture more, instead of around only to impose his views on his children, then maybe they could have been happy. And if he had not been around to make mother pregnant with Noelle in the first place, mother would have still been alive. Things would have been easier now if she had been. If father was the one who’d died instead. That wouldn’t still be so painful. He had never been attached to his father, his father scared him. He wouldn’t miss him. Why couldn’t it have been Noelle instead? But it hadn’t been Noelle instead, and his father was the one of his parents who were still alive, and he was stuck in this life. And he hated it.

It was weird, though. He had been feeling weird lately.

He was worried about what his father might do, and the quick whisper from Kirsch, about father being up to something, when they met up, was unsettling to say the least. Yet he was not thinking about it as often as he would. That was what was weird. He didn’t think about his father all the time, he didn’t think about any of his sisters all the time, he didn’t think about his brother all the time, he didn’t even think about everything that a Silva did or didn’t do all the time.

Instead his mind kept going back to the guy from the antiques store a month ago, the dog walker he had found in his bedroom two weeks ago. He kept recalling the instances he had encountered him, the clear memories, and the vague ones. He hadn’t seen him since he had left Nozel’s rooms that day, and he still didn’t know his name, though he felt like he ought to.

Except a Silva didn’t get hung up on strangers. He almost bit himself in a finger before he realized that he was out of apricots. He should have bought another bag. A Silva also wasn’t attracted to people of the same sex, because a Silva was not a filthy deviant. A Silva wasn’t a lot of things. He often wondered how many of those rules were really Silva rules, and how many were rules that his father had made up. Either way, he had always told Nozel all sorts of rules, all which were big pressure that he had never asked for.

His mind kept going back to that man, made him wake up in the middle of the night longing for a cocoon of warmth that he couldn’t identify, even though it was too hot to sleep with duvets in the covers or with covers at all. He didn’t really remember much, but he knew that he had felt safe in a way that he had not felt safe in nearly sixteen years. He couldn’t get it out of his head. He wished he could. Having some guy stuck in his head didn’t exactly make things less complicated for him. If his father ever were to find out, whatever plans he were making would turn worse.

It was still a few hours left until the sun set when Nozel left the Palm House and started heading back home. He was at Auer-Welsbach-Park when he realized that he was not even half an hour away from Nobilegasse, the street where he had woken up that first night. That man’s apartment. He almost crossed through the park toward Schlossallee instead of heading toward Mariahilfer Strasse. He stopped at the crossroad between Auer-Welsback-Park and Gustav-Jäger-Park, his gaze turned toward the trees. The sun glowed through the leaves, catching around the edges and casting shifting shadows. He remembered the shifting shadows in the man’s apartment, the way they created patches that didn’t move even though the shadows did. The touch of skin that warmed his own through a blanket of cold.

Glowing eyes darted across his vision, caught in the light of a passing car, caught by the lights from a plane, high up in the sky and wrapped in clouds.

He was most likely hallucinating it all, but the images were etched into his memory, more than any of the others.

Suddenly, he was startled out of his reverie by a loud noise, the bark of a dog, and he nearly jumped out of his skin. He stared down with wide eyes at the dog that was standing right in front of him, tail wagging madly from one side to the other, and Nozel froze. That was most certainly _not_ a small dog. “Oh- Oh I am so terribly sorry!” a young woman exclaimed, and Nozel averted his gaze only barely from the dog to look up at her. “She doesn’t generally do this- Not for as long as I have had her and she is supposed to be very well behaved. Kaspian, heel.” The dog lolled its tongue and rubbed her nose against Nozel’s hand. “I don’t understand what—Kaspian!— has gotten into her, she’s- she’s... Oh my God.” The woman had been trying to get the dog to return to her side to no avail, since the dog was now licking at his hand- Nozel snatched it away as calmly as he could, placing his hands behind his back; but Nozel realized that she was now staring with wide eyes at him. “You’re, you’re Nozel Silva! I mean, of course you know that, I mean, I’m a fan- Oh God I am so sorry for her behaviour. I love your music, I am so sorry, I don’t know how to apolo- Kaspian, _stop pestering him!_ ” Was a dog owner who panicked over her dog demanding attention from a stranger that good? This was fairly different from when the dog walker-... Oh.

“Please calm down. She might only be happy to running into an old acquaintance, though I only met her once before. You too, Kaspian, calm down.” He finally caved to the dog’s insistence, though he was no less comfortable than the last time this same dog had asked him to pet her. Because this was that same dog, he had realized.

“You- you know her? How..? I- didn’t know you visited shelters...” He glanced up at the woman. “I met her during one of her walks,” he explained. He stopped petting the dog. He wanted to wash his hands free of dog drool and fur. “It’s alright, I gathered that she is generally well-behaved, she might simply need some time to settle.” He remembered that Mereoleona had said something about that in the past, that some dogs needed longer than others to adapt once they had been brought to a new home, temporary or permanent. The woman seemed relieved that he didn’t get angry with her or the dog. She could clearly not sense his unease at being so close to the dog. He really was no good with dogs. “That is, thank you for saying so. My previous dog was a corgi, they’re a bit, different from St. Bernards.” Nozel did not point out that he was well aware of the difference, since Leopold had a corgi. And Kaspian was definitely far from that short-legged creature Magdaleón. “I, I know this is terribly rude of me, particularly after this... But could I possibly get your autograph?”

Nozel blinked at her for a few moments, and his silence seemed to make her more nervous than before. But it was fine. He was used to being asked for autographs. “Yes, that’s fine.” At least she didn’t say that she was a fan of his dancing— That would have put him in a bad place and he was feeling fairly good today, despite some heavy thoughts and being covered in dog drool.

The hesitation on which way to go was worse than before though, and Nozel very nearly ended up turning the opposite direction of where he had to go to return home.

What stopped him wasn’t really the fear of what might happen, though it did have something to do with it initially.

No, what stopped him was the sudden burst of wind that swept flower petals through the air, swirling around him and around other people, and the memory that was pulled out to the forefront of his mind.

They had been able to go to a picnic, the first one for both him and for Nebra and for Solid, all of them, together with mother. Father was nowhere in sight, but that was fine. It was before mother had become pregnant with Noelle. Mother had aimed big, and had brought the three of them all the way to La Punta Spartivento. It was beautiful, and it had been one of the best days of his life; the last best day of his life, because everything after was clouded with Noelle’s presence, growing inside of mother’s belly.

Not that they had known what would happen then, and they had been excited, but those memories were all ruined after Noelle’s birth and mother’s death.

But that day still was a good day. Mother’s laughter as her children ran around playing in the grass, and in the water, the happy expression on her face, the wistful look as she looked out toward the lake and the mountains.

Nebra and Solid had played tricks on what other few people that were there, and Nozel had tried to keep them in line. Mother had not been any help, but she had been smiling and laughing and he had been so happy, despite his annoyance with his siblings.

It had been a beautiful spring day, and the wind had twirled flower petals and leaves up into the sky, and mother had joined them at the shore of the lake, had swept them into a tight hug and had not cared that she got wet because they were wet and her skirt was sweeping into the water, and the petals had brushed past them and mother had laughed, finding petals in her children’s hair and clothes hours after.

Nebra and Solid had fallen asleep in the car as they drove home, but Nozel had stayed awake, blissful and happy and tired, and mother had brought out her camera, and she had caught Nozel’s expression in a frame. When he had found out that she was taking pictures of them he had insisted that he take a picture of her as well, and she beamed at the camera, and then she dragged Nozel close and had taken a picture of just the two of them.

Glowing eyes, flushed, tan skin, bright smiles of pure happiness. So much love.

He treasured that photograph, so very very much. So much that he was unable to look at it now without getting upset, because it was painful to look at.

Nozel closed his eyes, and he remembered a song. A melody, that he had heard his mother hum that day, during that picnic.

Happy and at peace, watching her youngest two squabble over the last crostata and her eldest attempting to mediate. Nozel had paused in his attempt—which wasn’t going very well anyway—and had asked her what song that was. “It’s a song about how happy a person gets when they find just what they need, what they have been waiting their whole life for, and they know that they have everything they could ever need right there with them.” Nozel had frowned; at thirteen, he had not really understood what she was saying. “Where did you hear that?” She smiled and ruffled his hair; he puffed up his cheeks and tried to readjust it even though he didn’t have a mirror, because his father’s lectures on appearance was already ingrained within him by then. She ruffled his hair again, ignoring his protests. “I heard it here, in the nature, in you three.” He had understood her meaning even less, but he _had_ understood that whatever she was saying was embarrassing.

That melody had escaped him for a long time. Now it was there, tugging at his mind, at his body.

He barely used the crutch at all as he headed for his home. It lay forgotten on his floor when he left, violin case in hand, and when he stepped into the studio he owned, the only thing in his mind was a whole disarray of sounds in need to be sorted out, pulling him in every direction and steering his hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   * FASHION. How do you even.
>   * [Tian Bistro](https://www.tripadvisor.com.au/Restaurant_Review-g190454-d6540860-Reviews-Tian_Bistro-Vienna.html) in Vienna looks lovely.
>   * The referenced “holiday” that has brought Mimosa to Vienna is the Russian summer holiday, which apparently starts around the start of june.
>   * According to [this](http://buzz.dancechanneltv.com/list/top-10-classical-ballet-companies-in-the-world) article, the Bolshoi Ballet is one of the top ten ballet classical companies in the world.
>   * [Schönbrunn](https://www.schoenbrunn.at/en/) and [the Palm House](https://www.schoenbrunn.at/en/about-schoenbrunn/gardens/tour-through-the-park/palm-house/) both look like places worth a visit.
>   * Writing while listening to _Dragostea Din Tei_ is very distracting, I don’t recommend it. Particularly not if it also comes with a heavy dose of nostalgia.
>   * DOGS. HOW EVEN.
>   * _Magdaleón_ , in this case, is the combination of the Spanish words _(la) magdalena_ , which means _cupcake_ , and _león_ , which means (As I’m sure most BC people know or can guess) means _lion_. Basically, Leopold’s corgi is named _Cupcake Lion_.
>   * La Punta Spartivento is a park on the Bellagio peninsula in Italy. It seems to be incredibly beautiful.
>   * Crostata is an Italian pie, generally with fruit based filling.
> 



	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The characters are speaking in various languages in this chapter, in the same scene. I could go all out on the google translate, but it would result in a whole lot of translation notes as well as a lack of flow in reading, so it’s all written in English (for the most part; there are some words — mainly nicknames — in various languages stuffed in there).
> 
> On a note unrelated to this particular story, I am taking fill requests for two different bingo cards, one "Bad Things Happen" and one with various kink. You can check the cards out and request something on either my tumblr (okumenffs) or on dreamwidth (okumen).
> 
> Edit: Nov 13, 2018: I reread all the chapters from one to nine to refresh my memory, and found some typos and grammatical errors that I fixed. Not that there might not still be some in there. I also ended up doing some minor edits here and there, but it's nothing that has a very big impact. Some rephrasing, some added or removed sentence, that sort of thing.

Nozel was not very happy with being dragged out of the studio that Friday. For the past week, he had been in an excellent mood and, as Leopold had declared when he heard about Nozel’s current constant activities with his violin, _in the groove_. Apparently that was a popular turn of phrase with the boy at that time. It seemed a bit old-fashioned to be honest, but it wasn’t like he kept up with teenage slang even when he was a teenager himself. There had not been any time for him to do that, not with his strict schedule and father’s attitude.

Either way, his cousin’s cousin’s remark aside, Nozel actually had been in the so-called “groove”. Having been dragged out of the studio in the afternoon by Fuegoreon and Mereoleona—when had they even showed up in Vienna?—to meet up with their little brother, their shared younger cousin, and, unfortunately, Nozel’s own youngest sister, at Grand Ferdinand and the suite Kirsch lived in there (currently together with Mimosa). It was on the way from the hotel toward Albert Schultz Eishalle that Leopold had made his groove comment. In the presence of the teenagers, in the presence of _Noelle_ , Nozel did not acknowledge that the boy was right.

He wanted to go back the the studio and work on his compositions— he didn’t have time for some random figure skating show just because his narcissistic cousin had told all of them to come. Wasn’t both Mereoleona and Fuegoreon supposed to be busy with work? And yet they had come all the way from Zaragoza _and Liuyang_ just for this. Leopold and Noelle were on vacation just as Mimosa, but that didn’t have to mean that they needed to show their faces in Vienna. Nebra and Solid didn’t, they had not gotten the dispensation from their coaches; a wise decision of Charlotte and Warren.

To be honest — which Nozel of course wouldn’t be, at least not out loud — he didn’t want to ever have to see Noelle in Vienna. Vienna was his safe zone. Nebra and Solid had visited only a few times over the years, not often at all, but Padre had not stepped foot in the city even once since Nozel moved there. Noelle hadn’t done so before either. _Noelle was not supposed to be there, it felt wrong._

Had he been able to actually tell Kirsch that he didn’t want to be forced to see her even for a short while, would his fool of a cousin have been kind enough to not invite her? He wasn’t sure about that. Kirsch loved to be seen, after all. By anyone and everyone.

But he had not invited Padre— his own parents, yes, they were already meant to be at the ice hall, but Kirsch wasn’t very comfortable around Nozel’s father, either. There was just something about Ermes Silva that put certain people at edge, even when they were not the targets for his rebukes. Not everyone, for example Gabriele and Giulia Ansoit appeared to be perfectly fine around him and he had an incredibly large network. He doubted that they would have allowed the engagement between their daughter and Ermes’ eldest if they had loathed the man even half as much as Nozel did.

He shook himself out of his thoughts, and noticed that Fuegoreon was watching him. “What?” Fuegoreon held open the door to their box seats, and it was first then that Nozel noticed that the kids and Mereoleona were not with them, and that his aunt and uncle were not in the box already though they should have been. “They wanted to pick up something to eat, they’ll join us in a bit,” Fuegoreon informed him, sticking to Spanish as he usually did among family; Nozel, as well, tended to speak Italian with his family, no matter the language they replied in, and today was no different.

“They didn’t eat before coming here?” One of Fuegoreon’s eyebrows went up, and he looked at Nozel with a sceptical expression. “And you have?” Nozel scowled in silent reply. He actually couldn’t remember when he last ate, but he wasn’t about to prove Fuegoreon right. “You always forget to eat when you get absorbed. Not that I’m not glad that you are pursuing your passion and that you seem to be doing well, however you ought to have more consideration for yourself.” Did Fuegoreon realize how difficult that could be? How difficult it most often was to have consideration for himself? Half the time or more he at the very least greatly disliked himself because of how self-conscious and messed up dealing with his father had made him. The only thing that he _did_ remember was to take his medication, and having an alarm set helped a great deal with that. Eating came after his music. “I’m perfectly fine. Why are you staring at me?”

Rubbing his shoulder, Fuegoreon sat down next to Nozel. Nozel’s gaze lingered a few moments where he knew the flesh met the prosthetic. He dragged his gaze toward the ice where the staff was just finishing up resurfacing the ice, and the stands on the opposite side. They were being filled up by other members of the audience.

“Your attention has drifted since the way over here, did you see someone that you know?”

Nozel leaned his knuckles against his cheek, leaning to the wall beside him and the arm rest. “I might have. I’m not entirely certain.” His gaze moved back to Fuegoreon but he soon looked back toward the ice.

He thought he had. He was pretty sure that he had. There had not been any time to confirm it, however. Not that he wanted to, in the company of his family.

But he thought that he had seen _him_. That infuriating dog walker. Without that large dog that had shoved its nose into his hands on more than one occasion, but still with a whole pack of dogs. It was still ridiculous and still a mystery how he could keep control over that many dogs all at once.

“Somebody that you’re interested in?”

Nozel sat up sharply, back going ramrod straight, and his face snapped toward Fuegoreon. He realized too late that his reaction had given him away. “I thought you were being quiet, that you thought something so preposterous? I really cannot understand your train of logic, Formaggino.” Fuegoreon snorted, unconvinced by the accusation that it was _Fuegoreon’s_ that was in the gutter and not Nozel’s. “You’re just being obvious, Conejito.”

“There is nothing to be obvious about. So drop it, Leon.” And even though there really was something to be obvious about, he had no say about the future of his romantic relationships. His father had too large of an influence on him for that. He had relationships sometimes, hiding them from Padre, but they could not last forever even if he _did_ end up in a relationship that could otherwise last a lifetime. He ignored the perplexed look on Fuegoreon’s face. Just because his family was accepting of him. Just because he was accepting of others. Nozel’s family would never accept him for who he was. Thankfully, Fuegoreon didn’t push; though it could be because the others arrived at the box. Nozel focused on his aunt and uncle instead, entirely ignoring his sister’s presence in favor of making small-talk with the parents. “Honigbär, it is so good to see you darling, you just keep growing up more and more.” Nozel hid the tightness in his body, pretended that it was due to his leg acting up. Getting older, aging, growing up, was not going to change anything.

Eventually the ice performances started, and for a while the focus everybody turned toward the rink made him feel safe in silence of no conversation and the sound of music and blades cutting ice. For a little while he could breathe, and disappear into the high and low notes coming from every direction like a comforting blanket.

But it had to end. Of course it had. His knee felt off and his hands shivered, just a little, little bit. These days he was good at that, and when Kirsch joined them in their box, still dolled up in his flamboyant and tight outfit, the teen was flushed and happy and so very pleased with himself and his performance. He chatted energetically with his parents, with his sister, with his cousins, until Mereoleona quipped in amusement, “You look like a peacock or something,” resulting in Kirsch’s face taking on a bright red color and his words to come out with the sputtering much like a dying motor. “No-ne-nah—I’m not!” Nozel, still in his corner, frowned at Kirsch’s reaction, and he recalled previous instances when he had thought that the boy behaved strangely. “Still look like it, though,” he pointed out. “Or like a flamingo,” Leopold added helpfully. Kirsch sputtered even more incoherently.

“What’s up with you?” Nozel asked, and it looked like he was not the only one wondering what was going through Kirsch’s mind. The person in question turned toward Nozel, a look of disbelief mixing with his awkward embarrassment. “You really don’t remember? Are you _sure_ you don’t remember?” Kirsch was given curious or confused — and sometimes a combination of both — looks, from every single person gathered in the little box. “Remember what?”

Frustration, it seemed, was the most prevalent emotion that Kirsch was feeling when he shouted, “Nothing! It’s nothing! Nothing! At all!”

“If it’s nothing, then why are you behaving so strangely?”

“I- I am absolutely not acting like nor- like not usu- strangely!”

Nozel arched an eyebrow, and exchanged a bewildered look with Fuegoreon. For the moment, neither of them said nothing. Mimosa turned actually concerned eyes up at her brother. “Bruder, are you ill?”

“Isn’t he always?”

Nozel’s jaw clenched at Noelle’s words, and the way she so nonchalantly flipped her hair over her shoulder. The fact that Mereoleona laughed loudly didn’t make him relax.

He pretended like everything was fine. But as soon as he was able he still excused himself, lying through his teeth to escape, and he hid inside his studio, because he pretended that he would go play, that he would be returning to work. But he drew in on himself, fumbled desperately for his medication.

The silence pressed against him from all sides, and he searched his mind for a song, desperate for a lullaby to soothe him but finding none within his memories, until he, exhausted, fell asleep in a corner of the room.

* * *

When he awoke he was laying on the floor, and he could see his hand rest in the light from the sun coming in through the window. His mind was slow and filled with mist, and all he wanted to do was go back to sleep.

He only vaguely remembered opening the window last night because he felt like he was being suffocated, and now he heard the sound of conversation, mixed with the sound of music. He was not the only musician with a studio in this building, that was what this building was for these days, and now somebody was practicing the violin.

Music was air in Vienna, it was one of the reasons why he loved this city so incredibly much, and it carried on the wind like a fresh spring breeze, filling people’s lungs with sound and peace.

Nozel knew this music.

This music had once, twice, a hundred times over, saved him from the depths of darkness. It was what had brought him out of it after his accident, after all that guilt because the pain had lifted and thus become so much stronger. This music, this song, played exactly like this, meant everything to him. Laying unmoving on the floor, tears dripped pain over his face and onto the wood beneath him.

This was the music that had given him his hope back, even if it was only a weak flicker, and it was what had given him a path to follow.

 _Pioggia di foresta al chiaro di luna_ was special. It would always, no matter what, bring him calm. It was a song that helped him pick up the pieces, the broken shards of his soul, that managed to glue the jagged edges back together, at least for a little while.

It wasn’t played on a sound track now. It wasn’t a cd turned on loud. It was different from that.

And it wasn’t anyone imitating the sound, either.

He had heard the man play in real life only a handful of times, always at a full-packed concert venue. He had been sitting in the crowd, and he knew that he had not been able to keep the admiration off his face because the time that he had gone with Licht, when they had still been dating, the other man had with amusement, with fondness, pointed out that “You must really like his music. I’ve never seen you make that expression.”

But of course he did. Anyone should. And Nozel did.

William Vangeance, a man of mystery and rumours, was an enigma, and he was, the way no other person Nozel had never met could ever be, his saviour, the person that he most admired.

This morning his music saved him again, the light wind that carried the notes in through the window above him blowing air into his lungs, blowing away the fog from his mind.

Hearing his music live, unexpectedly, had a soothing effect, and he was sure he would never experience it this way ever again.

After nights like the one he had yesterday, he would usually be staying holed up, closed off and trying to go to sleep again, but this morning, just this morning, just for today, he thought that for at least a little while, he would be alright, free of everything weighing him down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   * Grand Ferdinand is the Grand Ferdinand Hotel in Vienna.
>   * The only information about [Albert Schultz Eishalle](http://www.albertschultzeishalle.at/) (Albert Schultz Ice Hall) was in german, as were the other information pages about different ice halls... I had to settle for this and it’s first hall (Halle 1) through some google translating. I don’t know if there actually are box seats there, but you can’t exactly tell that the rink in my hometown has a few box seats either so this is just me taking a chance.
>   * _Formaggino_ = Italian: _Little cheese_.
>   * _Conejito_ = Spanish: _Little bunny_.
>   * _Honigbär_ = German: Honey bear.
>   * _Bruder_ = German: _Brother_.
>   * _Pioggia di foresta al chiaro di luna_ = Italian: _Forest rain by moonlight_.
> 



	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I rewrote this several times because I couldn’t figure out the start and I have several documents for it. Not everything from previous drafts were used but I do like some bits so they may be recycled in some later chapter.
> 
> They’re now halfway through 2018, I should start making a calendar for 2019.

It was still early morning when Licht practically danced into the room, he seemed so high-spirited and light-footed. Nozel’s eyebrow rose, and his hands paused on his violin. “What’s up with you?” Licht twirled the end of his ponytail around a finger, and in Nozel’s opinion, he appeared to be far too cheerfy for the ungodly hour. (He glanced out the window and noticed that there was a weak light outside. He never even noticed that the night had arrived.) Nozel could not understand how bubbly a person could get because of a family reunion. “You sound very accusatory so early in the morning. There is no bentornato for me, Nozelaki?”

“You’re prancing into my studio like a dressage horse trying to seduce a haystack without knocking, you can handle going without a welcome back.” Licht beamed at him, and practically chirped, “Efharistó!” as he beamed like the sun. Nozel scrunched up his face in a brief grimace at him. “Now, why would you compare me to a dressage horse? And where does the haystack enter the picture? That’s not the most common metaphor.” Nozel made another grimace, and lifted his violin back to his shoulder. “One of my exes did dressage.” Licht hummed, and Nozel had intended to leave the conversation be with there, but his first few notes were interrupted by Licht’s words. “One of the bad ones?” Nozel sighed, and he lifted the bow from the strings. In fact, that particular ex had been a complete ass who happened to enjoy exploiting people for material gain. He had also been dating her back when he was trying to convince himself that he was straight because his father would never accept him being anything else, which only made matters that much worse when things came to her. He had not spoken to her since he was twenty three however, and rarely thought about her these days, unless he was in bad shape. The metaphors could sometimes appear on their own without being in connotation to her, though. “Yes. Now, will you tell me why you’re so infuriatingly chipper so soon after your plane landed?” Licht would have had to have spent hours on a crowded plane and on top of that, didn’t he have to take a train from Megara to Athens before even reaching the airport?

“I met a girl!” Licht’s declaration gave Nozel pause. Fingers picking at the end of onf of the violin strings, he looked at Licht with arched eyebrows. “And this is something that you deem worthy of announcing at,” Nozel picked his phone out of the violin case where he had put it away with the sound turned off so he wouldn’t be disturbed, “five eleven in the morning on a Sunday?”

“It absolutely is! Besides, I wouldn’t have bothered you if you had actually been asleep, insomnia again, glykos mou?” Licht was right on the mark; Nozel was only awake because he had had trouble sleeping for the last few weeks. It was a combination of nightmares and itchy fingers, both negatives and positives. “It’s not like you don’t know without asking, I wouldn’t be here if I was able to sleep at home.” He caught Licht turn a glance toward the pile of crumpled blankets shoved into a corner. It gave away the truth; that he slept in his studio when he finally succumbed to exhaustion. “Sleeping pills, Nozelaki. Don’t you have those?” Nozel’s lips twitched, the thought of drugging himself to be able to sleep jarring at his mind. “It’s better if I don’t.” Though it was really most of all because of the thoughts drilled into him by his father. He knew that.

With a huff, he leaned into the one-armed hug Licht gave him from behind, and he tipped his head to the side to look at him. “What?”

“Now!” Licht released Nozel, took his violin and bow out of his hands, and placed them into the case. “I am taking you out for breakfast and coffee. You look like death.” Nozel, still in mind that he was grasping his violin for a few moments, dropped his hands down to his sides. “It’s _Sunday_. Nothing is open. Not to mention nothing would open this hour either way.” Licht waved his concern off, “Né né, xéro, don’t worry about it zouzouni mou.” Nozel scowled at the words. “I don’t know that one,” he pointed out, referring to the nickname Licht had used. “It’s ‘bug’, apparently it’s popular with the younger people back home right now.”

“Why— Never mind, whatever. I’m giving you an hour.” Licht hummed as he led Nozel toward the stairs and the door, “So demanding, Nozelaki. I was hoping you would go back home and try for proper sleep again after this. Aren’t you starting recording with that band or other soon? You need to be well-rested for that no?”

“We’re starting tomorrow, and I’ll be fine.” Licht did not look convinced. And if Nozel knew him well enough — which he surely did — the guy would try to trick him into taking a nap anyway, which was likely the only reason why he wasn’t pushing the topic further.

Licht dragged him off to Praterstraße, and his bright Biedermeier apartment that Nozel had practically lived in while he had dated Licht. He had always retained his suite at Sans Souci even during those fourteen months because he didn’t want to give his father cause for suspicion, and it was easier to just go pick up his mail at the hotel’s front desk rather than have forwarded to Licht’s address. Once at Licht’s apartment he was waved off to the table by the window, apparently still not reliable enough to help in the kitchen. He could at least make good coffee. As Licht prepared their coffee he chattered on about the girl that he had met on the plane, and his family vacation. Mixed with the tale of a three-day visit to Crete was the description of her eyes. Mixed with a description of her personality as he knew it at the moment (and his curiosity to know her even more than the few hours on the plane had allowed — though Nozel would hardly consider seven hours, a two hour layover included, to be only a few hours. Medium, maybe.) was a story about how one of his cousins had gone into labor during a church visit. Licht was certainly very infatuated. If Nozel had not been over his attraction toward Licht, he might have been a little jealous of just how much he seemed to like her. He had thought that he would have been jealous, he had been a bit jealous the last time Licht had dated someone after they broke up. But it was a good thing that he wasn’t jealous, and Licht seemed happy and really optimistic about his prospects. Nozel held his tongue on that, refraining to sour the mood with his own pessimism. Licht did seem to generally make better choices than Nozel. On the other hand, he _had_ chosen to ask Nozel to go out with him and had stuck with him for just over 14 months for some unfathomable reason, so it wasn’t like he didn’t make stupid decisions sometimes.

“So next month is Vermillion Month, huh,” Licht remarked when Nozel ended up mentioning the three birthday parties he would have to attend in August in the wake of Mereoleona’s birthday party at the end of July. Nozel huffed. “I suppose that it is. It’s just a huge bother if you ask me.” Mereoleona was about as motivated for fancy birthday parties as Nozel was, and he could just bring something for her dogs and not put much thought into it. He could pick something up after landing on the Canary Islands. Fuegoreon wasn’t too keen on parties either, Mimosa seemed to enjoy them, and Leopold was a disaster. “And it’s not even fall yet.” Nozel looked at him over the rim of his near-empty coffee cup. “And this is relevant how?” Licht made a vague hand gesture. “Vermillion is red and all that.” Nozel let out a deep sigh. He emptied the cup and put it down on its saucer. He picked at the cup’s porcelain ear. “Put her in front of a bull and see if she doesn’t instantly throw it to the ground.”

Licht let out a sound somewhere between a laugh and a giggle. “So she’s a conquistador.” Nozel’s fingers stopped moving, and he arched an eyebrow at his friend. “That too, I suppose, but the word you’re looking for is matador, I’m pretty sure.” Licht shrugged as he got up. “Maybe, but I’m sure she could conquer the world if she actually wanted to. That woman is quite something.”

Nozel snorted. “You’re not wrong. She basically has her own harem and doesn’t even seem to either realize it or think nothing of it. I’m not sure which one, sometimes it seems she switches it up.” He clicked the power button on his phone, and realized that he had given Licht well over an hour. “I should head back.” It was already ten fifty-tree. He got to his feet as well, intent on heading for the hall and his shoes and jacket. Licht’s hands on his shoulders steered him the wrong way. “No, first you should take a shower and actually have a proper meal.” Nozel’s eyes were narrowed in suspicion as he looked over his shoulder at Licht. “You don’t say.”

“Indeed! Now scoot, I’ll lend you some fresh clothes, and you know where the towels are.”

Before he knew it, Nozel found himself alone in Licht’s clean and neat bathroom. He stood there blinking in the light from the lamp, eventually let out a resigned sigh, and started to undress. He dropped his clothes on the blue and white floor tiles, picked a towel out of a cabinet and hung it up by the towel that had probably been hung up to dry a month ago. The water was cold when he turned on the shower, and he shuddered. He could see his arm quickly get gooseflesh as he twisted the temperature knob for more heat. He let out another sigh, much more frustrated, when the water turned scalding, and he twisted the knob the other way. It was much easier to find the right balance in his own shower. But he couldn’t just teleport back home or something like that, it wasn’t a thing-.. He paused with his hand on the knob and his arm still underneath the spray of water, stray drops finding their way to his face and chest before his feet was hit at the bottom of the spray. There was something with that thought that gave him a nagging feeling. A weirdly stupid nagging feeling because it made no sense. With a shake of his head and yet another sigh, he finally stepped in under the water. Licht’s soap and shampoo was on a little shower shelf made of metal and glass from IKEA, and they all had a lavender fragrance. It was a scent that Nozel intimately associated with Licht and it was slightly weird to use it again, the times he used Licht’s shower. He personally preferred either rose scented things. Once, he liked lemon scented things as well, but these days that scent reminded him of hospitals and he couldn’t stand it.

That nagging feeling that he was haunted by had almost grown familiar over the last two months. It felt like there was something that he reasonably ought to remember but couldn’t. It returned to him at the most random times, confusing and distracting. Thinking of how he just wanted to be able to go home without having to actually cross the distance. Putting on a particularly warm sweater a night when he felt particularly cold despite the high temperature. Sitting in the open window and feeling a wind brush through his hair. Hearing certain words echoing up from the street below. Waking up from the imagined feeling of falling. He couldn’t particularly place what those sensations wanted him to recall, what they meant. And he would find himself in his studio, working on compositions that he didn’t know where they had come from more than a melody of happiness that his mother had given him many, many years ago. But the songs were not only that. They were a confusing tangle of emotions, sorrow, happiness, frustration, longing, so much more. And at the back of his mind, that nagging sensation hid, waiting for another opportunity to show itself.

Nozel found clothes on the wicker armchair next to the bathroom door and pulled on the linen shirt and the loose trousers. They were both cool and comfortable, a light color and smelling freshly washed even though they must have been laying around in the wardrobe for weeks. Licht was in the living room, far too happy for a man who had probably not slept all night either, though he had relatively stable sleeping habits in comparison with Nozel. When he noticed that Nozel had left the bathroom he ushered him into the sofa, where he was warmed by the sun and could see out the window. Licht disappeared for a few moments, then reappeared with a bowl that he pushed into Nozel’s hands. Yiaourti me meli - Licht’s grandmother’s variation of it - was as familiar to Nozel as the apartment was. It was heavenly, the perfect blend of sweet and crunchy, and it made Nozel wonder when he had last properly eaten. He was in the habit of forgetting at times after all, and sometimes he remembered about it, but didn’t have the energy.

It was only when he woke up that he realized that he must have fallen asleep after finishing the yoghurt, and it wasn’t as if it was the first time something like that had happened. A bit over four years he had lived in Vienna, knowing that it could end at any moment depending on his father’s whims. A little over a week into his arrival in the city, he had met Licht,and later that same year they had ended up dating. During all that time, through romantic relationship as well as platonic relationship, Licht had figured out little ways to get Nozel to catch some rest once in a while. He was busy with his work as well, not to mention that he was very engaged in his family, so he couldn’t always keep an eye on Nozel, but he did more than enough and it was appreciated.

Now, Nozel could hear Licht sing along with the radio, and he heard him rummage about in the kitchen. Nozel pushed himself up, leaning his side against the plush, elegant sofa. The sky was evening-bright. He found the clock on the wall, read seven thirty-nine, and realized that he had been sleeping for far too long. He could feel a light breeze coming from the open window. Looking back out the window, he could see a bird with fluffed-up feathers clean itself on the windowsill. He watched as another bird joined it, could hear them coo at each other. He stayed still on the sofa until they flew away, and when he looked into the room again he realized that it was past eight.

When Nozel joined Licht in the kitchen Licht chirped out a “Kaliméra” at him even though it was evening. He informed Nozel that he perhaps had accidentally gone a little overboard when cooking. He had not had much opportunity back home with his family, though he had helped where he had been let in among the more commanding cooks. Used to seeing Licht take command over the kitchen, it was a strange thing to imagine Licht getting ushered to the side and told to let others handle things at the stove. Either way, Nozel probably had use for the hearty meal of several dishes that Licht had prepared, and he wouldn’t have to worry about what to eat for at least a few days considering Licht made him bring along boxes of food. When he left for home he took a taxi, and he noticed that the sun was down and the moon up.

* * *

Every day at noon, Licht called him. On Monday he had had a brunch date with the girl he had met on the plane. It had been a huge success and they both got along so well. They had scheduled another brunch for the next day, and that ended up a success as well. So went the days for Licht. Between work he met this Tetia girl, and called Nozel to talk about it simply because he was happy. Nozel had experienced Licht with a fresh crush before, but this was a little absurd. But he listened and refrained from adding any less optimistic comments best he could. Though he had to wonder if things were not possibly moving a little too fast. They weren’t dating yet, not officially, but Licht seemed ready to commit his whole life to this girl he had known for not even a week.

Nozel himself got absorbed into the task at hand. He had not expected to get along even remotely with hard rock musicians, but the members of Niemandsland, led and fronted by a woman called Karna, are surprisingly pleasant to work with. They even discuss the possibility of writing something more involved together, and he does not dislike that prospect. Not only because it would piss off his grandmother and father but couldn’t give them reason to rescind their pretend kindness, because it’s actually work. The chance of a music video comes up and though it’s not set in stone he’s not sure what to think about that.

He has participated in plenty of photoshoots ever since he was a child, he has been filmed pretty much every time he has danced and he has recordings of concerts he has participated in. There is a short making of video as part of the promotion for the charity cd though he has not seen it yet out of fear that he’s a complete disaster. He would have to watch it at some point though, probably. Although he generally avoided watching any interviews that he made. Actually deliberately making a music video though, he has never done that before, and it makes him recall how nervous he was when his father had him recorded during his practice sessions, after his dancing started to stagnate after mother died and he was searching for someone to fix what was wrong with Nozel’s dancing. Nozel had frozen up, no matter if he had or hadn’t had Charlotte in his hold, and later, when reviewing the tapes, his father had not been kind or patient, opting to yell and threaten instead of giving his mourning thirteen-year old kid a break to be sad for the loss of his mother and inspiration. Nozel wasn’t particularly good with video cameras since then, though he had at least become able to pretend to be calm as he was giving interviews. He did generally not feel well afterwards, no matter how good the interview had gone. He would do the music video if it came down to it, but he wasn’t all too keen on it and he would have to do a lot of mental preparation and probably take a vacation afterward.

But that way, talking to Licht between recording sessions, discussing future possibilities, answering his grandmother’s text messages on routine, the week passed. 

Friday the sixth of July was a rainy day, and they wrapped the last recording session a little past noon with a dinner at a restaurant near the studio. Nozel was then cut loose into the city and he wandered down the street with an umbrella turned over his head. Apparently Licht was going out for supper with Tetia later that day, and Kirsch was being weirder than usual. Though lately that was his usual, it seemed. Either way, he was busy too.

Nozel went to the National Library, and their department of music. He picked out a book on a study of music during a particular era and location, and he curled up in a secluded corner for a few hours. The sound of other library visitors is a whisper at the back of his mind. No place is as quiet as a library full of visitors keeping to themself, doing research, looking for inspiration, admiring the masters. Nozel too has spent many, many hours in this library, with no end of material to study in sight. It’s a quiet bliss, where he can turn his phone off and just be completely by himself for a little while. His father never complained very much when he learned that Nozel had been inaccessible due to a library visit. Nozel had discovered that when he was sixteen, and he had fled to the libraries in Milan several times a week when things got particularly rough, until he was allowed to move to Austria in 2014. Padre could complain that Nozel was spending too much time at the library, but he couldn’t complain over his desire to study. Though a lot of times he would secretly read novels, and escape from the real world into the world of fiction, with dragons, princesses, heroes, strange creatures and wild adventures, far removed from the world of dance and misery.

It was still raining when he left the library, but that was fine. He popped open his blue umbrella and wandered toward is home. He wanted to take a shower, and maybe watch a movie.

Nozel was trying to figure out what to choose from the pay-per-view catalogue — he remembered that there was a few new movies added last time he looked — when a voice called his name. Not his surname, which fans most often used, but his given name, which generally only family and friends called him by. But he didn’t recognize the voice. Except that nagging feeling returned, and it confused him because when he turned to face the man that called out to him he didn't recognize him. But that nagging feeling intensified. He had never seen a person with that many piercings before.

“Yes?” The words passed his lips automatically. “Can I help you somehow?” The man hardly looked like a starstruck fan, reminding more of a skeptical judge or doctor wondering what the hell was wrong with him; his wounds had healed, he was back on his feet, so why wasn’t he dancing to their tune? He didn’t like that metaphor and hoped that it would go away. “You don’t look like hell warmed over any more,” the stranger remarked and Nozel raised an eyebrow, appearing calm but feeling nothing close to it. “Pardon?” _What was he talking about?_ “About two months back, you collapsed on Finral and we had to drag you back to your place.” Nozel scowled in confusion at the other man. “Who?” He was unfamiliar with that name. As the man just amended, with no less clarification, with “my idiot friend,” the significance of _about two months back_ returned to him. It wasn’t like he had forgotten that he had woken up with the dog walker in his bed, or that he had woken up at his house, or any of that stuff— He had suppressed some of the stuff that had been going on back in May, though not entirely successfully— and he felt the heat drain from his skin, felt the rain drops press his clothes tighter to his skin. “That was.. You can forget about that, it was nothing anyway.”

An eyebrow so covered in piercings that it basically was only the glint of wet metal moving that made it visible went up, and there was doubt in the man’s eyes. “Yeah, _sure_ it was. You were a disaster. Good match for the disaster that Finral is though, whatever, I’m not here to talk about your piss-poor judgement to attach yourself to that fucking dumbass like some oversized koala.” Nozel was not certain if his face burned with embarrassment or indignation. “It’s about that flaming cock.” Nozel sputtered in shock. His face was definitely burning from embarrassment at words like _that_. “ _Excuse me?_ ” The tin man looked far too amused. He seemed to think that Nozel’s reaction was hilarious. “That cousin of yours. He’s the most flaming fucking queer I’ve ever met, and I know _Magna_.” Nozel had no idea who that was or why that was supposed to be relevant. The stranger didn’t stop talking with that. “All those fucking sparkles, man. Makes you wonder if he’s actually straight like fucking flagpole. You know?” What was this supposed to be? What was this situation? He had to be talking about Kirsch, that much was obvious. Nobody else of his cousins could even remotely fall under a description like that. “I- I don’t really care, I never bothered to ask.” His father certainly complained about Kirsch’s attitude, saying that he would kill himself if any of _his_ kids ended up acting like that. Either way Kirsch was just Kirsch, that was how Nozel had always seen it. He did not know, nor did he _want to know_ about his cousin’s sex life. Whatever way he expressed himself had nothing to do with his sexuality anyway, Nozel knew that from experience, being told that he did not seem gay on more than one occasion. Whatever the hell _that_ was supposed to mean. The stranger clicked his tongue in annoyance. “Whatever. You got his number?”

“He _is_ my cousin. But I’m not just handing it out to random strangers who are just looking to sate their curiosity.” The man regarded Nozel with some moments of consideration. Then he scoffed, flicked a black-lacquered nail at one of his many ear-rings, and he shrugged. “Fuck you, whatever. Come with me for a bit.”

“What- wait- let me go this instant, you brute.” The man had grasped Nozel’s wrist, and had started walking. Startled with the sudden development, Nozel did not instantly manage to attempt to free himself of the man’s grip. The man snorted, let out a sharp laugh. “Yeah you’re definitely fucking related alright.” He said something else, but Nozel did not understand that language, and couldn’t even identify it? Something from the Balkan region? He could be completely off.

The man was considerably stronger than Nozel, he discovered as he tried to free his wrist. Some people stared at them as they passed, but nobody tried to get in between them.

A door opened, and he was pulled inside a warmly lit room filled with people. He could hear a voice shout “Zora! Where the hell have you been!” over the babble of the crowd, and he vaguely heard the man shout, “Shut it lófaszt!” as he realized that he was in a bar filled with a late afternoon-early evening crowd. He apologized to a person complaining over the water from his umbrella dripping on them and he realized that the man had let go of his wrist as he was closing the umbrella. His wrist was grabbed again, and he was pulled past the people in the lively bar up to the counter. He heard the tin man say “Brought you a gift as an apology,” and Nozel’s head snapped up when he heard a voice, somewhat familiar when he thought about it, say “What?” with weary annoyance bristling at the edges. “Oh.”

The man on the other side of the counter, reddish blond hair pulled into a short tail, eyes for a brief second shifting in the light of a passing car or spot of sunlight (What? No, that was wrong, there was nothing like that in the bar. His mind was running away somewhere else again.), dressed in a black t-shirt that fit tight to his skin but not so tightly that you could define each muscle- though he didn’t look all that muscular, and a startled look on his face, looked at Nozel like he had never been so shocked in his life.

If Nozel were to be honest, he felt much the same. He had definitely not expected to run into the dog walker at another bar, two months later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   * _Bentornato_ = Italian: _Welcome back_.
>   * _Efharistó_ = Greek: _Thank you_.
>   * _Glykos mou_ = Greek: _My sweety_.
>   * _Né_ = Greek: _Yes_.
>   * _Xéro_ = Greek: _I know_.
>   * _Zouzouni mou_ = Greek: _My bug_.
>   * The Biedermeier period was an era between 1815 and 1848 in Central Europe. The buildings are simple and elegant.
>   * Yiaourti me meli is a Greek yoghurt, honey, and walnut dish.
>   * _Kaliméra_ = Greek: _Good morning_.
>   * _Niemandsland_ = German: _Hell on Earth_.
>   * Apparently the Austrian National Library’s Department of Music is the biggest music archive in Austria and hold some of the largest musical collections in the world.
>   * For the longest time (until like a week ago tbh) I thought that pay-per-view was actually called paper view because I had never before seen it written down, only heard it spoken. Which I thought made no sense but it’s not like English makes sense anyway so I thought, okay, whatever, let them have their weird.
>   * _Lófaszt_ = Hungarian: _Horsedick_.
> 



End file.
